#oh but don’t even suggest them to read a wip

[pretentiouswreckingball]

I hate you stranger on the internet that claims the marauders fandom could use another big fic but then refuses to actually read a wip

[fanaticsnail]

Oh snail, i know you already have a long list of WIPs (i can't wait to read them) and your Inbox is probably already full with requests, so i understand if its not in the cards right now.

I was just wondering what the kid-pirates would do, or how they would react if ther precious doc-reader is the one that was injured badly or was very sick. Especialy how Killer would react after that romantic tention between them (i need more of that 😩). I don't have a particular song in mind, because the seires already has a vibe to it, hope thats okay.

I wish you a wonderful day/night/evening! 💕Sooo looking forward to your next work, whatever it may be 🐢

I love you for this prompt, @daydreamer-in-training. Thank you!

Sit your ass down, would ya, Doc?

Hey Doc Masterlist here

Word Count: 2,000+

Synopsis: You've taken care of your crew and nursed them back to health from their flus... but now it's your turn. The Kid-Pirates do their best to take care of the worlds worst patient, their doctor: you.

Themes: platonic!kid-pirates, eustass kid x gn!reader, swearing, illness, comforting, taking medication, kid is a bit of a dom, doc is a bit of a bra, you're the kid-pirate doctor: the crew calls you 'doc'.

Notes: I am currently struggling with the flu myself, and this was simply too cute to not write about. Thank you for your ask, it's been fun to write about!

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sinning-23 @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @sordidmusings @nerium-lil

“Hey, Doc? Did we need any more petroleum jelly from the-...?” the fire breather called beside you, hating when you turned to face him, “...-Shit, Doc. You look like absolute balls today.” 

Rolling your swollen, glassy and red eyes at him, you draw another tissue from your counter and sneeze into it. The silky tissue felt like sandpaper over your leaky nose, the skin splitting surrounding your nostrils and leaving small stains of red on the pale paper.

“Always so full of compliments and kindness, Heat,” you huff out, your voice sounding hoarse and cracking along with every word. Heat cringed, recoiling away from you with eyes narrowed in sympathy. You attempt to breathe through your blocked nose, no air passing through the dual nostrils.

Treating the crew for the past two weeks, and nursing them to health in recovering from the flu, had finally caught up with you. You felt both cold and hot at the same time, your skin both dry and sticky with sweat. Mind swelling and cracking behind the tense throbbing throughout your brain caused a dull ache ringing in your ears and fogging your mind.

“I-... I’m just saying, Doc,” he reiterated in defense of himself, “You don’t look too good. Maybe you ought to sit out from the in-land trip to restock. Stay home on the Victoria Punk?” Heat suggested with a soft smile and a subtle shrug.

“What?” you grunted out a cough, “And leave you lot to restock my clinic for me? Not fucking like-...” coughing into another tissue, your glassy eyes pricked at the corners and began to spill out and down your cheeks, “...-likely.” 

Heat’s smile fled from his face, his lip downturning in sympathy. He shook his head and extended his hand out to you, gesturing you to follow him out through the door towards the deck. You attempt to sniff back another intake of air to reopen your nose to no avail. Following on, you trudge somberly towards the top deck where the crew were all waiting to step foot onto the pier. 

Without drawing attention to yourself, your eyes squinted lazily to compensate for the pain the sun caused your mind. With each achy step, you attempted to bite back the ache your body was going through. Barely aware of your surroundings, you gesture in the medicinal remedy booths at town square for herbs, ointments and aromatic fragrances. 

As you reached into your pocket to pull out your small folder of Berry, a large right forearm reached over your shoulder and paid the vendor before you could. Rolling your eyes, you turn to look at the scowling grimace of your captain, Eustass Kid, baring his rage down at you. Attempting to roll your eyes at him again, you clenched them tightly shut instead as the world became far too bright to process.

“Captain,” you acknowledge him with a clumsy nod, fighting the urge to not to fall over with the vertigo overcoming you. He growled at you immediately, gesturing to Wire beside him to gather the supplies and walk back to the ship. 

“You’re a real fuckin’ idiot, aren’t ya, Doc?” he spat, scolding you with his heavy growl. You laughed at him, shaking your swirling head and beginning to walk beside him. Your overexertion and sleep deprivation caught up with you as you tripped over an uneven divot in the rocky path.

“I'm not into degradation, Cap,” you respond in a half-joking hum, your eyes feeling heavy and weighted, “Not my kink. Might be yours, though, considering the amount of times I yell at you to hold you accountable.” That comment earnt you another low growl from your captain, his face turning a few shades darker than his hair. 

He turned to face you at his side, his lips curling as if to speak. As he opened his lips, he was lost for words as you fell into him, bracing yourself against him to steady your walk. He caught you in his right arm, bringing his face down towards you and brows knitting with concern. Turning towards Wire, he cocked his chin to the side to usher him on towards the ship. 

With no further warning, Kid dipped at the knees and hoisted you up into his chest beneath your thighs. He curled his bicep and hooked your head beneath his chin and cradled you firmly into him. Under usual circumstances, you would’ve fought this tooth and nail.

You do not enjoy being manhandled by the crew, especially by your captain. While you enjoy the embrace once in a while with your more sensitive crewmates, particularly Bubblegum, the Captain has only ever been this close to you when he’s sparring with you.

“C’mon Doc, I'll get you seen to,” he grunted down at your position curled into his chest, “I’ve-... And the-...” his words trailed off, the fever raising your temperature higher and prompting you to seek out sleep against his pectoral. 

Voices and words fade in and out of your ears, a slow drawl and murmurs of several of your crewmates swelling around your assumed resting spot for the day. The room wasn’t physically moving, even though your vertigo suggested it was. 

“When was the last time Doc’s had a day off?” you recognised the feminine voice of Quincy in the room beside you. Several grunts and incessant babbling reverberated around the room, prompting you to flutter your eyelashes open and push through the pain. 

“Doc!” you cringed as a body almost flew into your bed, sitting on the plush sheets beside you, “You’re awake! I’m so happy to see you’re up!” You wince, slowly waving Bubblegum away, swatting at his zig-zagged head.

“Off, off,” you shooed him, wincing as you shrugged your duvet off your thighs and swung your legs over the side of the bed. As you began to wobble to your feet, the booming voice of your captain called over the chatter of the room,

“Sit your ass down, would ya, Doc?” he growled, striding over in intentional steps and giving you a shove from his right hand in the middle of your chest, “The medics here said you need a week in bed to rest. Sit down.” You growled at him, doing your best to gather the strength to growl at him. 

“If I’ve been prescribed ‘rest’,” you began, gesturing to the crewmates surrounding your current room, “Why the fuck are you all here?” Several sheepish mutters surround the room, a few members pinching the scruffs of their necks, a few more wringing their hands in front of their waists. 

Your captain clapped his hand on your shoulder, pushing you to lay back down and wrangling you into your bedsheets. Refusing to go down without a fight this time, you wriggled in his grip and fought both the fever and the strong arm of your captain. 

“For fucks sake, Doc!” Kid yelled at you, pushing and shoving you down into the very comfortable and unfamiliar bed in front of the crew. “Just lay down and rest, damn it! Go back to sleep.” You wriggled harder. 

“No!” you yelled defiantly, kicking off the duvet and fighting each and every time your captain attempted to shove you into your bed. Kid looked around to the crew, angled his chin sharply to wordlessly order them to leave the room. As they left, Kid turned back towards you and crawled up onto the bed. 

“You are more of a pain in the ass than that fucking bullet to the buttcheek,” he growled, climbing over you and baring down his weight onto your smaller frame. Straddling your thighs, he placed his knees on your open palms and successfully pinned you beneath him. He pressed his forearm over your chest and gave you a firm shove to force you to lay down. You had no choice but to thump your head back into the plush pillow behind your head. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you clench your jaw and growl behind your lips. The rumble in your throat hurt the raw swell in your jugular, but you pushed past it to air your frustrations at him regardless. The chuckle from your captain above you only served to propel your anger to rise higher. 

“Yeah, yeah. Growl and groan all you want,” he scoffed at you, pinning your chest with his bicep while reaching his hand between you and gathering the blankets in his fist. Slowly raising it up, he continued his place straddling your thighs until he thought you would no longer fight him. 

“Why are you doing this, Captain?” you snarl at him, finally opening your eyes to gaze up into his eyes. He smirked at you in response, pressing his palm to your forehead and clicking his tongue at the temperature. 

“Because,” he leaned over to the bedside, taking two small spherical tablets into his hand, “We love you, Doc.” He leaned back over you, gesturing with his chin for you to part your lips. You take a moment to snarl at him before complying, parting your lips and allowing him to place the bitter tablets on your tongue. 

He leaned back over to the bedside, finding a glass of water and bringing it down to your lips. Tilting the glass slowly as it brushed with your bottom lip, he carefully fed you a sip of water to take the pills with. Placing the glass back over on the table, he drew his attention to the small amount of water seeping from the corner of your lip.

“Now, be a good Doctor and get loved on, idiot,” he softly huffed, his voice low and husky as he leaned forward. He used the pad of his thumb to gently collect the spill of water from the corner of your lips. Your eyes never ceased its glare up at him. He grinned tauntingly down at you, arching his brow and ensuring you swallowed the tablets. 

“Get off, Captain,” you growled at him, bucking your hips up in an attempt to remove him from your body. He cackled his rumbled laugh down at you in response, shaking his head. 

“You gonna get up again if I do?” he asked, leaning down and caressing your cheek in a gentle stroke. His eyes held nothing but mischievous mockery, but his hand felt like it was gently coaxing you to comply with what he asked. 

“No, I’ll behave,” you snarled at him. His laugh was genuine this time, low and gentle. Slowly backing off you, he slid off your body before adjusting the sheets and smoothing them over. 

“Good,” he nodded, beginning to leave the room by the door off to the side of the room. Halting at the door, he fought with himself for a moment before looking at you over his shoulder and uttering, “I’ll-… I’ll get Kil to check on you in a few hours. Get some rest, okay?”

What he said next was something you weren’t expecting to come from his lips. In all the time you served with him, he only ever called you ‘Doc’, or ‘Doctor.’ You were your title, and you appreciated that about the crew. You were Doc, only ever Doc. But what he said changed all that.

After he uttered the word “okay,” it was immediately followed by your name. Waiting a few moments, you responded in a cadence just above a whisper. 

“I’ll be right where you left me, Kid,” you replied with a soft smile back at him. He closed his eyes, offering you a reflection of your smile in return before it grew back into its usual mischievous face. 

“Good,” he again offered you, scrunching his nose up at you and looking up through his red eyelashes at you, “Otherwise I would’ve gotten your doting daddy to come coddle his whiny baby.” Your eyes went wide, your jaw clenching and your eyebrows shot up to your hairline. 

Eustass Kid just laughed in response, exiting the room and giving you both the time and space you needed to recover. Your recovery was not only the flu, but of the second hand embarrassment that Killer must’ve relayed to Kid what he’d said to you in the consultation room. Either that, or you left the shell of your Den-Den accidentally activated from when you spoke with your captain earlier in the day.

Either way, you pouted as you did as you were told and huffed back into your bed and went to sleep: the paracetamol activating and stilling your swelling head and masking the undertones of pain in your body.

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

Chiori and Yae with a reader that tries to slack off all the time

characters: Chiori / Yae Miko x gn!reader (separate)

a/n: Chiori is such an asshole and I absolutely adore her. She’s like if they gave Stannis Baratheon hair and a second sword.

(I wrote this like... 2 months ago and finally finished it. A total henry move to write 90% of smth and then let it rot in my WIP folder for months, if you ask me.)

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Chiori

While the two of you matched when it came to radiating calm energy, the way they came out in quite contrasting ways. Where the Seamstress worked hard at following her passions, you were easygoing, where she was direct and brutally honest, you were charming and always said what the other party wanted to hear. Where she was Chiori, you were you.

So when you once again found yourself in her Boutique, chatting away with customers and somehow managing to make them spend more than they had planned, only to up and vanish from one moment to the next, Chiori couldn’t help but feel like she had an inkling of an idea to as were she would find you.

“What are you doing here?”, Chiori’s voice suddenly rang out, waking you from your slumber as you slowly looked up at her, your eyes still half closed and yet still managing to make out the vexed look on her face.

“I was taking a small break. Do you need me for something, Chiori?” you asked in a completely innocent tone, an unwavering smile plastered on your face as she stared you down before signaling to the once locked door.

“And where did you get the keys for the room?”

“They were in the door, so I let myself in. Oh- Was I not supposed to go here?” You realized with widened eyes, glancing between her and the door before shooting her an apologetic smile.

“Yeah no, don’t do that again. The next time you want to take a nap, do it at home”, came her response almost immediately.

Putting the whole “sneaking off and going into a locked room to take a nap away from people” situation aside, what annoyed Chiori even more was how impossible to read you were. If she was sure you were lying to her, she’d have thrown you out long ago. Were you really clueless enough to let yourself into a room or were you simply playing dumb? 

“Ugh. If you want to stand around and do nothing, come with me. I’m in need of a model right now.”

Yae Miko

While you were certainly far from being as lethargic as a certain ninja-girl loitering around the shrine every so often, you had your moments of supreme languidness. And while there were times she felt the urge to help you out by giving you a bit of motivation to get your day started, more often than not, Yae found herself amused by the lengths you took to go unnoticed by your superiors.

“Oh my, you look exhausted. You must have been working hard to get all of this paperwork finished. I do hope I’m not being a nuisance right now”, Yae observed as she entered the room, her voice both soft in nature while masking her mischievous intentions, letting herself into your office only to see you half-slumped over your desk with finished paperwork surrounding you.

That being said, Yae had no doubt it didn’t take you as long as your dramatic rendition of an exhausted warrior would suggest, considering the clever ways you found to make your work easier. So often had you inadvertently impressed her with your way of working that she wouldn’t put it past you to reinvent the wheel if it could shave off a few seconds from your work.

“No, I just now finished my work”, you were quick to soothe her worries, and yet by the way you rubbed your eyes awake, the Kitsune couldn’t help but doubt your words.

As expected, you had learned from your mistakes. The last time you were caught finishing early, you got a few sentences of praise and an extra load of work, the way your self-satisfied smile turned into one barely holding on as you tried to mask whatever emotions washed over you on the inside, being exactly the kind of subtle reactions she loved to watch people go through.

“You should know that you are truly a commendable employee. So, to reward you for your hard work, I should give you a promotion”, Yae spoke before shooting you a small smile as if to praise you, and yet by the time her words registered in your brain, your mouth was left hanging wide open.

“Thank you, but that’s really not necessary. I can think of a dozen people more suited than me-”

“You’re selling yourself short. I’m confident you’re more than qualified for the position”, Yae quickly cut you off, her expression unchanging as she slowly turned around. “Or… Is it that you do not want more work?” She added as her smile grew wider, barely hiding her enjoyment anymore.

“No… thank you”, you responded with a meek sigh, realizing the futility of fighting it.

Once you’d take a closer look at your new privileges and responsibilities, you’d surely realize that she made sure most of your new workload wouldn’t take nearly as long as your current one if handled in an intelligent manner, and yet, when she saw your current reaction, a part of her found herself hoping you wouldn’t realize anytime soon.

By the time Yae reached the door however, she found herself halting in her tracks, quietly humming to herself as she seemed to think about something before finally turning to face you once again.

“I do suppose you did work well today. Take the rest of the day off.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Shameless

Sequel to Graceless

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, dejection, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The reader attempts to move past her ruination, but is reminded of her tarnish conscience at every turn. (Regency AU, tall!reader)

Character: Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson

Note: Here we are. The sequel but not the end.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love coffee and that’s a lot and probably unhealthy. Take care. 💖

The string of the glove’s seam trails loosely from the thumb. You twist the thread, playing with it, but doing little to mend it. Even with a needle in hand, you have no whim to darn. There are many things in life that cannot be repaired no matter how you try. Occurrences which cannot be taken back.

You pull at the seam until a hole forms in it. You poke your finger through with no heed for the glove’s integrity. You detest that pair anyhow. The very same you wore… that day. 

Albina lays at the foot of the bed, her head bent back over the edge as she peruses one of her novellas. Hannah and Cora disappeared ages ago and you only just heard them through the windows. They are likely causing chaos in the gardens. You hope your mother finds them and issues a reprimand for their immaturity.

The autumn thins the air as it creeps in around the window frame and you smell that discerning scent of dirt and leaves. Only a week and it feels as if the whole world has changed seasons. Your world has transformed irrevocably.

There’s a clatter and you glance over as Albina rolls onto her side. She’s always hated to be disturbed amid her stories. She huffs and falls onto her back to begin again, but the door bursts open, your two other sisters tromping through with excitement.

Albina shuts her book loudly and sighs as she sits up. You go back to your exploration of the glove, watching the thread stretch along the seam as you tug. If only that were Cora. If only you could rent her pretty hair from her pretty head. Or in the least, swat the smug grin from her lips.

You can’t even look at her. It just makes you think of him. Of how stupid you’d been. You believed his promises were meant for you but it’s only as you relive that haunting episode every night that you realise, he never proclaimed his intent for you, only alluded to a vague offer. Another mean trick.

“Lord Rogers has sent a gift,” Cora trills as she stands at the vanity, shuffling something unseen before her. Hannah stands at her side, bouncing with anticipation.

“Oh, what do you think it is?” Hannah chimes.

“Could you not unveil it in the sunroom, where there is no one reading?” Albina says as she drags herself to the edge of the bed, resting her book on her skirts.

“Could you not get your head out of those ridiculous fancies,” Cora retorts over her shoulder, “if you ever do for long enough, you might just find a husband too.”

You don’t look up. You refuse to give her the satisfaction. You haven’t missed her wandering glances, how she taunts you without even a word. She turns back to her gift and rustles beneath the thick paper.

“Oh, heavens,” she swoons and spins, “isn’t it beautiful?”

“Are those rubies?” Hannah preens.

“I think.”

“Garnet?” Albina suggests.

“No, no, surely they are rubies,” Cora insists. “Do you see?” She swirls around the room closer to you, “I must find the perfect gown to wear with this. Oh, he would fawn to see me in his ribbon, wouldn’t he, sister?”

You grip the glove tight as her figure looms over you. With your other hand, you clutch the needle, letting it jab into your palm until your eyes prick. You nod, “very beautiful.”

You stand the moment you get the words free of your dry throat. You try to smile but can only muster a strained grimace. You try to step past Cora but she moves with you.

“You’ve not even looked,” she says, “how would know how beautiful it is?”

“Cora, please.”

“No, no, have a look. It’s so elegant, isn’t it?”

You clamp your lips together. Your insides tangle painfully. Even as the tenderness leaves the bruises in your thighs, you swear they hurt just as much as the day after. You sniff.

“Please, move out of my way,” you beg.

“Oh, sister, why must you be so dour? Is that jealousy I sense?”

“No,” you snarl. Jealousy. Oh, something much deeper, something agonizing. “I said move.”

“Move? Well, it looks like I am the first to wear a title so it is me who should be issuing the orders, don’t you think?”

“Oh, Cor, you are not duchess yet,” Albina reproaches, “let her pass.”

The heat rises up your back and crawls onto your neck. You feel like you’re suffocating. You feel like the walls are closer together, as if the world is hewn in fire. It is all burning down around you.

“She is being a sour little brat about it, Al,” Cora snaps, “it isn’t fair of her to ruin my engagement. I don’t know where she ever got the idea that Lord Rogers had any mind for h–”

You don’t think. You need to get out of here. You shove Cora out of your way and stomp past her as she gasps. You drop the glove as the needle sinks further into your palm. You sweep out of the door and hurry down the corridor. You hear her, whining pitifully as you flee.

“She shoved me! She–”

“Oh, you did goad her,” Albina’s quiet scolding follows you to the stairs, “put that ribbon away, you’ll only ruin it.”

Ruin… 

The word clings to you as you barrel down the stairs, as if running from your own shame and anger. You love your sister, you would never wish anything horrid on her, but you can’t help that small whisper in your mind that suggests that Lord Rogers may just treat her as cruelly as he has done you.

💙

The autumn continues its slow advance, nipping in the air and at the foliage alike. You smell the crispness as it wafts through the open window of the carriage, cooling the cluster of bodies within. Your father rides with the driver, guffawing loudly with the clop of hooves. Your mother fans herself as she needles away with her relentless critique.

…Albina, push your shoulders back; Hannah, keep your lips shut tight, you don’t need horseflies wandering in; You, fix your bonnet, it is dipping at the front; Oh, Cora, isn’t that a lovely ribbon…

You try not to mope. The more you do, the more pleasure Cora takes in her victory. You will forget it, you will go on as you’ve ever done. Dejected. You fold one hand around the other, your palm tender from the bite of the needle still wrought into your flesh.

You look up as the carriage slows. The lush green of the promenade tinges with edges of russet and patches of goldenrod. Lords and ladies stroll along the brickwork walkway, skirts swishing around languid steps, arms hooked in one another, others perched upon benches or huddled around the grand fountain at the center.

Your father climbs down as the driver unlatches the door. Your mother emerges first, her fan clapping shut sharply and knocking against the frame. Cora is second, then Albina, Hannah, and yourself. You come out behind them and feel your height all the more. You hunch and grip your wrist tight.

“Do not slouch,” your mother looks back and raps your arm with her fan, “no lord wants to walk alongside a hobbling giant.”

“Yes, mother,” you correct yourself and let your vision drift off into a vacant blur.

“Ladies,” a familiar timbre approaches with a pair of footsteps, “you’ve arrived.”

You refuse to look at Lord Rogers as he stands just along your peripheral. He greets your mother with a cordial bow of his head and shakes your father’s hand. At last, he addresses his betrothed as she wiggles in her skirts and nearly squeaks.

“Lord Rogers,” she drawls, “I wore the rubies.”

“Beautiful,” he praises, “my lady, might I request a stroll upon the promenade?”

“Aye, you may,” your father answers, volunteering himself as escort.

“Sir,” Rogers accepts elegantly and offers his arm to Cora, “and perhaps a few more daughters might care to join us?”

“They will remain with me,” your mother insists, “we would like to see the roses.”

You wait until they’ve departed to dare a peek at them. Lord Rogers struts away confidently with his arm through Cora’s. Your father trails them with his brass-tipped cane. Your ribs rack as if they might collapse in on themselves.

“Come girls, the autumn will wilt away the roses,” your mother declares, “let us make our rounds, perhaps we might have two engagements this season, hm?”

You linger behind the others. You keep your head down as you watch the toes of your boots poke out from beneath your skirts with each step. Your led by the hem of your sisters ahead of you.

As you approach the hoop of rose bushes, there is an unexpected furor. Voices trill and flutter, a booming laugh that rolls like thunder. You raise your eyes and see a blond head above a cluster of hats. You don't recognise the lord amid the clan of amused men.

"How rowdy," your mother remarks in her curmudgeon way.

She ignores the pluck of glee for the thorny tangles. Hannah and Albina give longing looks to the uproar but dutifully accompany your mother to the hedges. The eldest of your quartet pets the paling pink petals and grieves the browning at the edges.

The dullness of that moment feels like a promise. This is how life will always be for someone like you. You will never know excitement, you will only ever be a witness, a scrap of collateral left to squander. 

You pretend to admire the greenery. The colours are faded and worn. Just like everything since that night. As you are.

You smell the leaves and the pollen and you're taken back to that moonlit moment. The cool air on your skin, the friction of his figure, his weight trapping you on the stone.

The leaves mesh together in a tapestry of swirling hues. You quickly dab your eyes before your tears can spill over. Those bouts come suddenly and dry up just as soon. You cannot let it take you here.

An emptiness enshrines you and you peer over to find yourself all alone. Your sisters and your mother have left you, forgotten you. Not such an unexpected plight but painful nonetheless. You turn in search of them and nearly collide with another.

You press yourself to the bushes behind you and swallow a gasp, creaking out an apology.

"Apologies, my lord, I did not see you–"

"Lady," the man greets with a courteous dip of his chin, looking down at you. Down! He is even taller than you. 

The same lord with the blond hair who had a crowd raucous. You do not know him. He is rather older than any courtly debut.

"You mustn't catch yourself," he reaches around you delicately and untangles a fold of your skirt from the thorny vines, "it is too fine a dress to tarnish."

"Thank you, sir, it seems I am a bit obtuse at the moment," you force a smile. 

He is very handsome. He eyes a brighter shade than even Lord Rogers and his hair even more golden. That comparison urges you back to the ground. You are still you and you cannot be so foolish as to let yourself believe contrary ever again.

"Might I–"

"I spy–"

You speak at the same time and both correct yourself. You defer and touch your lips in embarrassment, "apologies, once more, I keep treading on your toes."

"I have tough toes," he japes, "I meant to ask if I might have your name."

"Oh, yes, sir," you give him your name, "I admit I am ignorant of your own identity."

"Ah, yes, I have come from far," he grins, "Lord Thor Odinson, of Asgard."

"Asgard, why that is very far," you comment, "well, sir, it was a delight to meet you. Welcome to our homeland."

"A privilege," he returns, "if I might be so forward, as I am a stranger to this land, I would extend to you an invitation to dinner as I acquaint myself with your country. Would that be too improper?"

"Sir," you flutter your fingers at your side as you stand awkwardly before him, "I would needs ask my father."

"Yes, certainly you would, as you are unwed," he says as if untwining a riddle, "I do hope you will be permitted."

"My lord," you bow your head, "my mother…"

You look past him to your mother's fan as she beckons to you with it. Lord Odinson steps aside and extends his arm in gallant dismissal. You shift to move past him.

"Thank you, my lord."

"Allow me to thank you, lady, for entertaining my tedious conversation," he counters and you quickly flit away.

You near your mother as your other sisters crowd her. She is jibbering behind her fan, "...an ambassador," she says and snaps together the folds, "I hope you did not spoil our welcome."

"Mother?" You look at her in confusion, your cheek hot and tingling still.

"With that Lord, he did invite us to a dinner," she explains, "it would be very important for your father."

You shake your head. You don't argue. Ah, but the invitation was extended to all. Are you so foolish to think otherwise? You must shield yourself in the harsh lesson you've been taught. You are not and can never be special.

💙

The night of Lord Odinson's dinner arrives. You wear a gown of black patterned with deep green vines. Plain attire in contrast to Cora's shining scarlet silk, Alvina's buoyant blue bodice, and Hannah's deep rose sleeves. You add a simple beaded ribbon around your head, and a string of pearls around your neck.

"Dour," your mother remarks as she emerges in a tangerine satin, "ah, Cora, my darling, you look splendid. And to think, now that your engagement is public, you will be a pretty ornament on Lord Rogers' arm."

"Mother," she preens, averting her eyes in feigned modesty.

You clutch your reticule tight and glance over as you hear the approach of hooves. It is Lord Rogers' coach. The vehicle bustles towards the gates, open in expectation of him, and you look away. You can hardly bear the sight of red paint that decorates the doors.

His driver slows and breaks in the dirt. He greets your father as ever, gallant and proper. You put your teeth over your lower lip and peek up, catching the glint of Rogers' sapphire irises. His cheek dimples as his brows twitch. You swiftly rescind your gaze, favouring the dust on your slippers to him. He is as handsome as ever but to you, he is a vile cad. A demon clothed in cravat and vest.

He helps your mother first into the coach, then Cora, Hannah, Alvina, and finally yourself. He extends his gloved hand to you and you stare at his palm with disgust. You put your hand in his and step up into the vehicle. He squeezes before he lets go, a subtle tug on your skirt as you duck inside.

You sit on the bench between Albina and Hannah. You play with the strap of your reticule, focusing on it as you coil it like a snake. You only need to survive the journey to lord's manor. You've survived worse, and all at his hand.

💙

The manor is called The Nine Pillars, a rather strange name for a house, but referenced by the columns set into the stone walls. Each is topped with the facsimile of a different beast's head; a lion, a boar, a bear, a wolf, a falcon, a stallion, a bull, a viper, and an elephant. You lean over Albina to take it in, only to be nudged back to the middle.

You sigh and trail the part from the court. Attendants await your arrival at the broad steps of the manor house, the style much unlike that of the other courtly homes. The peak of the house resembles a warship overturned and the walls are without the typical white wash. It is very antiquated yet refined.

You enter the glowing hall, the glass lamps hung from the walls lit in an illuminating speckle. Voices carry from the drawing room where other guests gather and the bustle of the house staff flutters around the corridors and clamours from the kitchen. Your stole is taken by a groom and you nod in acknowledgement at his diligence. Your stomach swirls nervously.

The drawing room is a cluster of swishing skirts, flapping fans, and waggling coat tails.  Your mother and father greet another older couple as your sisters disperse; Cora to show off her betrothed, Albina to whisper to Maria about her novels, and Hannah to gossip about the newest debuts. You find yourself lost before the sea of elegant figures.

You wade towards them, weaving between the bodies, looking around for any sense of welcome. Those who do see you, turn away quickly, as others pretend not to notice your towering form. You will find a place on the wall as you ever do.

"Lady," a deep voice calls but you don't bother to hear it. It cannot possibly be directed at you. It calls again, several times, before pronouncing your name. You spin to face Lord Odinson before you can retreat to your setinel against the wallpaper.

"My Lord," you greet him, "pardon me, there is much going on, I mustn't have heard you calling."

"Ah, but forgive me, it is rather uncouth to be shouting," he stops before you, "my mother always said I did blow in like a storm."

"Oh," you nod politely. You're not used to someone looking you in the eye, not without having to awkwardly contort your posture.

"She would like you, very much, I think."

"Why would you think that, my lord? You hardly know me."

"But I see you, a strong woman, built like a valkyrie. You are resilient and might I so forwardly say, resplendent."

"Sir?" You peer around, looking for an audience, for someone in collusion taking amusement from his false interest. It is always a trick.

"Again, I am the tempest, I cannot be subtle, not with a lady so stunning. Awe-inspiring. If I am the storm, you must be the sky," he remarks boldly.

You face him, a frown.

"Lady, it is a compliment," his face turns sober, "I hope I didn't overstep--"

"It is a joke. Who do you make laugh? For who am I the farce tonight?"

"Joke? Not at all. Never," he glances around the room. He is quiet as he takes in those around him. As he sees their elusive eyes and cold shoulders. "They cannot see what is right in front of them. A goddess--"

"No," you nearly sob, "no. I am not goddess." You bow your head, as you hear that same word from enough, a memory; Athena. "No sir," you put your chin up defiantly, "I will not be fooled by you."

"Fooled, my lady--"

"Excuse me," you shuffle away from him, "I need air..."

"Lady," he calls again but you elude him, delving into the crowd, marching away with head and shoulders down.

As you near the door, you hear a familiar laugh. You look to find Lord Rogers with Cora on his arm, his golden hair shining, her locks perfectly spiraled and set. He tilts his head towards her, "I call her my Athena," he says loudly, as if he knows you are listening, "for I worship her."

His eyes flick up and meet yours. You recoil and spin on your heel. Scalded, you flee into the hall and huddle into an alcove. No one would notice if you stayed out here all night.

💙

You sit among the guests at the table. The women chatter as the men speak in low voices about their business or some writ tabled in session that morning. You do neither as you're isolated in the fervor. As sherry and wine flows generously, you partake only of lemon water and loneliness.

You peer down the table and find yourself drawn to a pair of eyes. Lord Odinson. Where you expect tension or disappointment, you find only an amiable smile. He is almost dreamy as he watches you. You turn in your seat and look at Albina next to you, she's bent so far toward Hannah in her whispering that he likely cannot even see you.

You keep your gaze on the table. You will not encourage him. Lord Rogers taught you caution, he taught you your worth and not to think yourself above it. You feel suddenly sick, as if you could spew onto the table.

There is the clink of glass and someone clears their throat. The buzz around you hushes and all turn to the head of the table. You look over reluctantly. It is Lord Odinson, the host, about to make his toast. He stands, a crystal glass in hand.

"Welcome and thank you all for attending. You've all made me feel rather at home," he raises his glass and the guests mirror him. You lift yours a few seconds too late. He sets down the flute and continues, "and while you've all ingratiated me so kindly, I hope you might tolerate a little piece of my homeland."

He pauses and gestures to someone you can't see. A servant comes forward, holding a wooden box carved with symbols you don't recognise. Runes, perhaps.

"In my faith, there are the Valkyrie. They are the embodiment of female power and prestige and thus they are the keeper of our culture, of our ways. They are fertile and beautiful. So it is that each season, one lady is crowned as Valkyrie. I understand that I've come late but I am honoured to spend the season here, in your society. Thus, tonight has been more than a dinner..."

He stops as the servant opens the box. He takes out a crown of daisies wrought in gold and silver. He presents it to the room with a smile. 

Cora leans forward as her eyes round in greed and the other women sit up, admiring the piece of jewelry and peeking at each other. You don't move, you stare at the wall and wait. You wonder who it will be. Maybe Cora or Maybelle and her doe eyes.

There is another lull, swollen with anticipation and intrigue. Lord Odinson gives a soft chuckle before he declares his valkyrie. No one speaks, none says a word. You blink. He speaks again.

You feel a nudge on your elbow as Albina leans towards you and whispers, "it's you."

You glance at her, then along the table. Cora's eyes are narrowed at you and Lord Rogers looks like he's chewing his own tongue. You turn your attention to Lord Odinson, trapped in surprise and disbelief.

"Yes, lady, please, come and claim your crown."

You grasp the arms of the chair and push it out as you rise. You walk stiffly, keenly aware of those watching you. You stride down the long table and near Lord Odinson. He faces you and hovers the crown over your head. You bow and he lowers it on, wiggling it to be sure it's firmly in place.

"It is I who shoulder defer to you, sweet lady," he lowers himself to a knee and bows his head, "our valkyrie."

The silence looms. You refuse to look back. You feel the stare, the disapproval, and disappointment. There's a clap and you flinch. Then another, and slowly the applause build.

Lord Odinson stands again and takes your hand, placing a kiss on your fingers. You meet his eyes, so intense you could melt.

"As I said," he keeps his timbre low, "it was not a joke."

💙

"Can I see it?" Albina asks as you go to set the crown on the narrow table.

"Oh, certainly," you turn to her. You're still burning with excitement. It's only one night, it doesn't mean anything, but it is a good night.

You hand her the crown and she takes it, admiring the craftwork with aw and showing it to Hannah as she nears. She places it on her head and rocks her shoulders.

"I am the valkyrie," she japes.

"No, I am the valkyrie," Hannah snatches the crown and dawns it.

"You are both children," Cora sneers as she shoves her ribbon of rubies into her jewelry box, "please, that lord is only here to pander to our king on his family's behalf. Nothing else."

"You're only jealous," Hannah rebukes.

"Am not," Cora stomps up and swipes the crown of daisies, "what would I need with a meaningless thing like this. Queen of what? The chimera? You don't even know what a valkyrie is."

"Nor do you," Hannah retorts.

"I do," Albina asserts, "they are an army of female warriors who lead the dead--"

"I do not give a fig," Cora flings the crown so it hits the bedframe and bounces off, "we don't believe in them here. That man is a fool."

"Oh, I saw you fawning over him, Cor," Albina goads, "don't lie. Rogers himself looked concerned."

"Fawning? Don't be silly."

You don't say a word as you go to fetch the crown from where it's fallen. You notice that one of the petals is bent out of shape. Oh, no.

"It's fine. She's right, it's just a silly crown."

"You all need to grow up," Cora insists, "as a woman soon to be married, I can see now how juvenile you lot are."

"Not married yet," Hannah snaps, "sooner the better if it means you're off."

"Charming, Hannah, I wonder why you've not had a proposal yet?"

Hannah waves her off with her hand and goes to Albina, "I'm tired. Help me out of my dress."

You turn away and set the crown on top of your own jewelry box. You take your time undoing the ribbon on your head and unclasping your pearls. You peel off your gloves and as you face the bed, you see Cora's hot glare.

"You'll see. That Lord Odinson will leave you behind and next season, you'll be on your way to a convent."

You swallow down her bitter words. Deep down, you don't doubt it. She is likely right but less than clairvoyant. You know better than any what your fate will be.

💙

You watch from the window as Cora walks in the gardens with Lord Rogers. Albina is in bed, moaning and rubbing her pelvis, as Hannah is downstairs with your mother stitching at her frame. The winds of autumn rattle the window frame and you back away, nervous to be caught observing.

You sit on the mattress and lean back against the pillow. Albina curls up on her side and faces you. You offer your hand and she latches on, squeezing. Her cramps have struck and she's already stained several shifts. Her blood has her in agony.

You don't mind keeping her company. Your own was due a week ago. You know because you've not stopped counting the days since... since Lord Rogers' proposal.

"I should hate to miss the promenade..." she mourns.

"You shouldn't miss very much," you assure her.

"Yes, but it will be cold soon. Too cold and it will snow and I will hate to go," she utters, "will you go?"

"Perhaps," you answer.

"And walk with Lord Odinson again?"

"If he wishes."

"I am certain he does. He is very friendly. Last night, when he told us of his families stronghold. About the mountains and the crossing rivers..."

"He has many stories," you agree, "and he tells them well."

"Oh, he does. He tells them for you."

"Pardon?" You nearly laugh.

"Sister, don't act clueless. He gave you his crown--"

"It was only a game."

"I do not think he plays."

"Why..."

"He always finds us on the promenade, doesn't he?"

"He is polite."

"Oh, you are stubborn."

You puff but don't argue further. She's wrong but she can't realise she is. She doesn't know what's happened, how you know for certain that he has no true intentions. That he cannot be any different than Lord Rogers.

💙

The hedges along the promenade are thinning. The roses have wilted away and the greenery curls and recedes. You wear a pair of lambskin gloves and an unlined cloak. It isn’t cold enough yet for fur.

As he does most days, Lord Rogers approaches to greet your family. Your mother and father bow to him briefly and bid their best before strolling off to meet with their peers. The betrothed couple will lead the way, as you walk behind with Hannah. Albina remains abed at home, her presence sorely missed as Hannah yawns and makes faces at the duke and his engaged.

You resist the urge to look around, to search for the man who crowned you valkyrie, the same who appeared at your side nearly every day. You restrained yourself from depending on his presence, from longing for it. He is a fleeting acquaintance, destined to return to Asgard one day. You shouldn't think so much of him.

“I wish we could have a summer wedding,” Lord Rogers declares, his voice raised loud enough for you to hear.

“But, my lord, that is so far away,” Cora protests, “so long as we wed before the snows, I will be content.”

“You, content. I am not mistaken, I know the sort of wife I’ve chosen,” he chides, “you only relish in that you might wear velvet.”

“Not at all my lord. I relish that I should marry you,” she preens, her arm hooked in his firmly. 

You stare at the linking of their bodies. You remember the way he held you down, the way he cooed and coaxed, how he so softly coerced you. You should fear for your own sister, yet their misconceptions may be mutual.

“My ladies,” Lord Odinson’s voice precedes him and he steps up beside you, “and my lord. You are ashen, does the cold not agree with you?”

Lord Rogers glances over his shoulder, an edge in his jaw, “I handle it finely.”

You don’t mention he was only just longing for the summer. It isn’t any of your concern and you don’t very much care. Or you try not to.

“In Asgard, the winters, ah, they are splendid,” Odinson begins vibrantly, “there are days when the snow builds walls on its own and the next, they blow over to rippling oceans of frost. Endless and powdery.”

“Oh, we do not get so much snow here,” Hannah comments, “I don’t think I would survive such winters.”

You nod, listening intently as you picture the swirling snow and white dunes. It reminds you of a fairytale or a scene from one of Albina’s novels. Otherworldly and fantastical. Something entirely new and wonderful, but terrifying.

“And you, my valkyrie, would you face the blizzards?” Odinson challenges.

You hum thoughtfully. You know he is looking at you but you are too shy, too wary to return his gaze.

“I suppose with the proper cloak and a thick pair of boots, I might make it through, sir.”

“A coach and a horse, and any lady would say the same,” Rogers scoffs back at you, “girls hardly know the truth in matters of spirit. They can be overly presumptuous upon their own abilities.”

Odinson pushes his jacket back, hooking his finger in the pocket of his vest, “women are strong in ways men can never be. They carry lives, they bear the burden of the world, they maintain a grace lost on most men.”

“And the demure to the strength of men, to the wisdom they can never possess,” Rogers snaps back, laughing cruelly, “it is in the vows they take, is it not?”

“Only the strongest man can see the strength of women,” Odinson dismisses calmly, “my own mother keeps a pack of snow wolves. She goes out in the winter storms and reins her own sleigh. All while my father sits warm before his hearth. Her victories are not his losses.”

“Sounds rather quaint, Lord Odinson,” Rogers clucks, “your country strikes me as lacking civility.”

“Uncivil is a boring way of saying lively, and I promise, my home is much and more,” Odinson affirms, “but I think that fate has a way of placing us all where we belong, wouldn’t you agree?”

Rogers is quiet for a moment, his steps heavy as he strides on. He turns his head, his eye flicking between Odinson and yourself. He snorts and turns forward again.

“We must all take as we earn, accept what we do and do not get,” he says tritely, speaking animatedly with his hand in the air, “more often than not, we have only ourselves to thank… or blame.”

As cryptic as his words are, they are plain to you. That night with him was not unearned. Your foolishness bought your destruction. You must now live out your sentence of watching him walk arm in arm with another woman, your sister, everyday. You must accept that what he took can never be reclaimed.

💙

You sit in the garden, wrapped in a shawl as autumn breezes around the table. Your mother has a fur on her shoulders and your sisters chatter their teeth as they sip their tea. You rub your hands together, your gloves doing little against the crisp air. You suspect the days of dining without are close to done.

As you watch a leaf drift down from a branch, the hinges whine, and your father emerges from within. He gives an emphatic shiver as he claps his hands together. He seems rather pleases as he has his shoulders pushed back and his hat on a tilt.

"Daughters, my lovely wife, it is a beautiful day, is it not?"

You wonder at his uncharacteristic glee. Your father is ever practical and serious, on all matters. More so, he confounds as through the mutter of responses, he looks to you. You nod and agree with his sentiment softly.

"My daughter, my eldest, you... have a visitor."

You blink and withhold a grimace. He hates when you make faces. You force a smile and your voice crackles as you muster your voice.

"A visitor, father?"

"He is inside, he cannot have his tea alone," he says as if you should know who he alludes to.

You stand as Cora rolls her eyes, "who could be here for her?"

You notice how Albina and Hannah share a look. You cannot determine whether it is at your expense or Cora's.

"Daughter," your father drawls, "do not be sour that your betrothed eludes you."

"He does not--"

"So be happy for your sister and enjoy your tea."

She huffs and reaches for her cup. You step around her chair and approach your father. He smiles and as you near, he puts his hands on your arms. He is smiling. Genuinely.

"He has my blessing, of course, I will need accompany you to maintain propriety," he speaks quietly, "come."

You dip your chin down and meekly follow him inside. A servant pulls the door closed behind you. Your steps echo down the corridor as your father leads you to the sunroom. As you enter, there is some rustling and a subtle creak. 

You peek up to find Lord Odinson standing with a hand on his vest. He bows to you and your father. You stop in the archway.

Your father proceeds, unaffected, and sits in the cushioned chair nearest the fireplace. He slaps his thighs as he splays his legs and grunts.

"Well, then, get on with it," your father grumbles.

Lord Odinson straightens his posture and gulps. He reaches up and toys with his cravat, the starch fabric already askew. He smiles, his cheeks reddening. He sways and looks between your father and yourself.

"I thought it very difficult to put this in ink but now I am here, I find the same is true of words," he says, laughing at his own joke, "so, lady, I trust this isn't very surprising to you. I've made my intentions clear and I've made your father a proposal, which he has graciously approved. Thus I put to you the question..." he twists his cravat, stops himself, then grips his jacket lapel, "would I be a fair husband to you? Er, or rather, would you... would you... honour me as a wife?"

The air stills and the chill that trailed you in dissipates. You blink dumbly and let your mouth fall open. You glance at your father. You understand his happiness now and yet you cannot believe it.

Your stomach churns and you clamp your mouth shut. The silence turns unbearable. You notice how Lord Odinson's cheek spasms and his complexion drains.

"Yes, sir, I... suppose... rather, I would..." you feel as if you're choking, "is it true? A marriage?"

"You wouldn't have to leave your homeland forever. I have some months ahead of me and my holdings here. We could visit--"

"Yes, yes, I will marry you," you murmur.

You hold your breath. Waiting. For one of them to break. For a peel of laughter between them. For it all to be another trick.

"Glory," Odinson exclaims as he proffers his hand, "shall we sit for tea, then, my valkyrie?"

You nod, unable to speak for fear of croaking. It is real. This man is real but you worry, his attention may yet prove false.

[emmg]

WIP whenever

because @heylittleriotact uno reverse'd me lmfao

bc grading essays is overrated, so here’s a lil’ something from the ridiculous fic I’m forcing my keyboard to suffer through. Plot? Absolutely none. Just Emmrook going on “dates” (and like also… smutty dates) suggested by the other clowns haunting the Lighthouse. This one’s SUPPOSED to end in a coffee date—because Lucanis—but I haven't written that yet lol

Honestly, it’s like… smut-crackfic with necromancy puns that should be punishable by law. I keep saying I’ll write a serious Emmrich one day, but let’s be real, that day isn’t today

Anyway, title? Don’t have one. I'm just throwing a bunch of dashes and slapping a read-more right before it gets too long so it doesn't invade anyone's dash

--------------

It’s the most absurd scene. Like, truly bonkers. 

She hovers in the doorway, conveniently camouflaged by shadows, because though the cringe levels are searing her soul, she simply cannot look away. It’s like watching a runaway cart barreling downhill, if said cart was cobbled together with blissful ignorance and top-tier ineptitude. 

There, crammed onto Harding and Neve’s favorite tiny sofa, are Lucanis and Emmrich. And they’re... talking? Sort of? It’s the most agonizing conversation she’s ever been subjected to, and that’s saying something. Lucanis is flailing his hands around, using them more than words, trying to drive home whatever point he’s failing spectacularly to make. Meanwhile, Emmrich, ever the dignified one, has one leg crossed so neatly over the other that it creates this little triangle of space that she suddenly wants to crawl into and hide from the embarrassment radiating off both of them. 

"You see," Lucanis laments, his fingers forming that universal gesture of the confused and the desperate, “we went for coffee. But she, well, threw it back. Like a shot of spirits. It was not just any brew. This was from the frost-bitten slopes of the Vimmark Mountains. A dark roast with notes of juniper and just a hint of wild honey. You don’t just drink something like that—you experience it.” He shakes his head. “Her focus was all on that new case file, instead. And fish. Fried fish."

Emmrich nods along thoughtfully. “I understand. However, if I may be so bold, Lucanis, have you perhaps thought of discussing something besides coffee? A change of topic might open new avenues.” 

"I did offer to sharpen her knives."

“Knives,” Emmrich repeats, as though weighing the term’s philosophical import. “And… Neve is known to possess a significant collection of blades?” 

“No,” says Lucanis, flat as a pancake. 

“Ah,” Emmrich replies, offering a sage nod. A wise and knowing “ah,” as if that somehow clarified things. "An unusual approach, then." 

Desperate to claw himself out of this conversational pit, Lucanis asks, “Well, what is it you and Rook… do?” He stumbles over the words, as though simply asking has exhausted his entire social skill set for the year. 

And now, it’s Emmrich’s turn to squirm. She can almost see his moustache twitching, wishing it could detach itself from his face and make a run for the hills. He looks away, frowning slightly, as though consulting some vast internal library.  

They don’t go on dates. Please. Not even the hilariously doomed sort that Lucanis somehow subjected Neve to. For one, neither of them has the time for candlelit strolls with the world about to be ripped apart by blighted elven gods strutting around like they own the place.

Usually, she just pops into his room and fucks him while he pontificates about the finer points of romance. Oh, she always lets him go on for a hot minute, but once her lips are on his throat and her hands start wandering further south, he finally gets the hint, and that highbrow nonsense about “dignified courtship” goes straight out the window.

Emmrich, after clearing his throat, finally answers, "We discuss books."

From her shadow, she snorts. He's not wrong, technically. Just the other night, she had perched in his lap while he was reading some dry treatise on Fade energy attunement and the properties of dawnstone. He’d even launched into a detailed explanation while she kissed her way down his jaw and neck, hardly deterred by the lecture. Finally, when her hand wandered beneath his shirt, Emmrich, after a brief struggle to finish his monologue, allowed the tome to tumble from his grip.

So yes, “discussing books” might be accurate, but it’s hardly the whole story. And yet here sits Emmrich, steadfast in his scholarly pride, while Lucanis looks ready to take a long walk off a very short pier. She’s not sure which of them is more tragic. 

“Hm,” says Lucanis, apparently having reached the absolute zenith of his conversational abilities. 

“Ah,” Emmrich replies, with all the enthusiasm of someone describing mildew yet also, somehow, managing to sound very polite about it. 

She saunters over to break this pathetic monotony of wall-staring both are currently engaged in.

“My dear,” Emmrich perks up, relief flooding his face as though she’s just rescued him from the depths of some social hell. His voice is full of that charming lilt he uses when he’s desperate to salvage his dignity. 

He makes a half-hearted attempt to stand, all dignified and well-bred, but she waves him off with a lazy hand, signalling him to stay seated. And stay he does. Without missing a beat, she slides into his lap, practically draping herself sideways over him, arms winding around his neck. He tenses for a moment, exhales in resignation, but eventually gives in, one hand resting at the small of her back, fingers just barely grazing the line between respectable and… well, decidedly not. 

“I hate when you do that,” Lucanis snarls from across the sofa, jabbing a finger at her. 

“Yes, it’s not very proper,” Emmrich says with solemnity, though he’s showing absolutely zero signs of protest about her whole backside pressing against him. 

With a serene, mischievous grin, she stretches her legs, casually extending them until they’re firmly invading Lucanis’ personal space. 

“Mierda,” he grumbles, swatting at her ankle with all the fervor of a cat being swiped at by an annoying feather. “Rook.” 

She just grins that beautifully infuriating grin. “Go back to your pantry, Lucanis,” she says sweetly, her tone one of pure, serene malice. “The gouda is getting lonely.” 

Lucanis stalks off, glowering as if he’d chuck a knife at her head if he had one in hand. And she’s fairly sure he would. 

She blows him a kiss. He shows her the middle finger. They’ll have coffee in the morning.

Meanwhile, Emmrich, ever the portrait of indulgent patience, looks up at her from his cozy place beneath her with a satisfied hum. “How was your day, darling?” 

“Good,” she sighs, stretching further until her legs are practically colonizing whatever’s left of Lucanis’ side of the sofa. “Yours?” 

Emmrich raises an eyebrow. Makes a contemplative sound deep in his throat. “Enlightening. Lucanis and I were just having… an intriguing discussion.” 

“Oh?” she purrs, eyes glinting. “About what, pray tell?” 

“Courtship,” he says, savoring the word as though it were some priceless artifact he’s just dusted off from an ancient shelf. 

She smirks. “I’m sure you gave him absolutely riveting advice.” 

“I certainly tried.” He heaves a great sigh, even rolls a shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. “Though, I fear our preferred methods diverge.” 

“‘Preferred methods’?” she echoes, giving his thigh a playful squeeze. “Do enlighten me.” 

Emmrich gives her a look that’s half-scholar, half-sufferer. “Well, I fancy a touch of romance, some… sentimentality, if you will. And Lucanis…” 

“And Lucanis?” she goads. 

“His idea of a grand romantic gesture involves… knives,” he finishes with a sigh of pure exasperation. 

She can’t hold back the snort that escapes. “I mean, yeah, it’s Lucanis. Did you expect anything different?” She presses a little closer, trouble dancing in her eyes. “But for what it’s worth, I do love talking about books with you… so very much.” 

Emmrich doesn’t miss a beat, a hint of sarcasm curling his lips. “So I’ve gathered.” 

“Tell me more about your books, Emmrich,” she coos, batting her eyelashes with all the enthusiasm of a third-rate actress in a chintzy Orlesian play. 

“If you’re genuinely interested, I would gladly oblige.” 

“Oh, I’m interested,” she purrs, lowering her voice to a husky whisper. “In you talking… while you bend me over your desk.”

Emmrich rolls his eyes, his facade of feigned innocence dissolving in an instant. “There it is,” he says, shaking his head, fully resigned, and yet absolutely, unflinchingly unbothered. “Right on schedule.”

She giggles, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips, laughing against his skin as his mouth curves into a smile. His hand moves down her back, rubbing a little more insistently, as if he’s grounding himself—or maybe just unable to resist the urge to keep her right there. 

And she doesn’t make it easy for him. She drags her legs back, swings one over his lap, and settles herself down, straddling him. For a moment, she just studies him, tracing her fingers through his hair, brushing little gray strands back, pressing featherlight kisses along his cheekbones. She moves to his jaw, his forehead, then teases at the edge of that absurdly high collar he insists on wearing like he’s hiding some grand secret rather than just a very biteable throat. 

He is fine, she muses, is he not? So impossibly precise, so painfully detailed. He’s all sharp angles and sleek lines, with those maddeningly long fingers that look like they could carve through a mountain if they set their mind to it, and legs that seem to go on for days. Tall, lean, graceful, and—she smirks—a touch too verbose for his own good.

There’s a tragic elegance to him, too, a sort of quiet, melancholic dignity wrapped up in age and maturity, like a bottle of rare, finely aged wine that’s only gotten more complex with the years. A shame, really, that he’s about to be thoroughly enjoyed by someone who wouldn’t know a fine vintage from a spoiled ale. 

She’ll savor him all the same, every last bit. 

When she takes his hands, winding her fingers through his, she feels him smile—a real, soft thing, so she leans down and steals it right off his mouth. She licks along the seam of his lips, teasing, before he finally gives in and parts them, letting her kiss him in earnest. 

“I like your rings,” she murmurs as she pulls back, letting their mouths part with a wet pop, a little string of saliva snapping between them. “They make you look expensive.” 

“Not too expensive, I hope,” Emmrich teases. “Otherwise, I fear I’ll meet the same fate as every artifact your merry Lords of Fortune collect. Pilfered in the night, sold to the highest bidder. One moment here, the next—poof. Gone.” 

She makes a show of sighing, voice deadly serious. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’d rig the auction, slip in a pretty penny or two, then plant an inside man to bid on you. Coin in one hand, you smuggled back to me in the other. All in one night.” 

He laughs, that rich, throaty sound she loves, and she can feel it rumbling up through his chest. “All that trouble just for me?” 

She leans in, lips brushing his ear. “Consider it my own little courtship ritual,” she whispers, nipping at his earlobe. “Better than dinner and a walk, don’t you think?” 

He chuckles, his hands slipping to her hips, holding her close as if he’s half-tempted to test just how well she could pull off that heist. “Dangerously persuasive, as usual.” 

For a while, she stays just as she is, savoring the closeness, every slow inhale filled with the scent of him, the warmth of his body against hers. She steals little kisses, grazing his jaw, breathing her laughter against his skin each time he starts to smile. She loves the quiet, the intimacy of it all, though she loves his voice just as much. Sometimes, she asks him to read aloud, not for the content, but for that smooth, careful cadence that rolls through her and makes her feel so, so good. She’ll rest her head in his lap, fingers idly tracing patterns on his hands, kissing his knuckles, his fingertips, watching his face as he reads. 

Now, there’s nothing for him to read, but she leans into him all the same, letting his quiet words fill the space. He murmurs, babbles, whispers soft nonsense as he unlaces her hair, fingers brushing through the waves, watching as they fall in gentle cascades over his lap. She exhales, content, her eyes half-closed, perfectly happy just to listen as his voice drifts around her, soothing and familiar. 

She simply listens, resting her head on his thigh, gazing up at the ceiling, fingers trailing over his hands, kissing his fingers one by one, lingering on each touch. Her teeth gently scrape along his skin, letting her tongue follow in a slow, winding path. She feels his breath hitch, hears him stumble over his words as she nibbles down each finger, tracing her tongue along the edge before she takes it into her mouth, sucking just enough to leave him squirming. She lets each finger slip from her lips with a wet pop, savoring the way his composure falters, how he tries—and fails—to keep his voice steady as she drags her mouth over the center of his palm, kissing, licking, leaving nothing untouched. 

He’s given up on this one-sided dialogue entirely, his gaze drifting from her to the room around them—the door, the table, the empty corners where nothing but dust bunnies, or perhaps a few stray Fade bunnies, lurk in silence. 

“Dear,” he murmurs, glancing down at her. “We ought to move.” He gives her a gentle nudge, even tries to rise himself, but she’s not having it. 

“Oh, but you look so good here,” she protests, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “They’re all asleep, Emmrich. Even Lucanis, that kitchen rat, is probably curled up in his pantry right now, snuggling his precious wheel of parmesan.” 

Emmrich lets out a long, put-upon sigh, like he’s reaching deep into his reserve of patience, maybe for some scolding remark, but he finds none. His shoulders drop as he finally relents, letting her kisses chip away at his restraint. She leans in, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, detailing exactly what she wants him to do with those hands of his—where she wants those fingers, how she wants them stroking, filling, plunging, curling… 

“Well then,” he manages, and she laughs, a short, wicked little sound, straight into his mouth. 

She slips down his body, her hands already at his waist, working his trousers loose with a grin that says she knows exactly how flushed he’s become. She murmurs something obscene, barely a whisper and almost incoherent, her smirk widening as she leans in closer, taunting, “Come on, Emmrich, don’t tell me no bone was ever… poked… in that crypt of yours, right out in the open for all to see.” 

“It’s the Grand Necropolis,” he corrects, like that’ll somehow keep his dignity intact, “and we most certainly do not… poke.”

She undoes the last of the many - too many - buttons on his trousers before freeing him just enough to take him in hand. And oh, would you look at that, for all of his posturing he's already hard. All that wriggling on top of him certainly led to something, she thinks.

“Oh?” she hums, tracing her fingertips over his bare skin, savoring the way he stiffens under her touch. She leans forward, her lips brushing against his length as she murmurs, “Not even a quick tumble between the tombs? Not a single bone used for inspiration?” 

His restraint crumbles as she flicks her tongue over him, taking her time, drawing out each little shiver, each catch in his breath, making sure he’s utterly undone before she finally lets her mouth close around him, her gaze locked on his as she starts to take him deeper, her mouth warm, wet, greedy. And as she feels him sink back, his hands clenching in her hair, she knows she’s finally broken that perfect composure, and she couldn’t be more pleased. 

Then she pulls back just enough to speak. “So, tell me, is this what you meant by reanimation techniques?”

Emmrich sighs, dragging his free hand over his face as if he could somehow block out the utter cringe tumbling out of her mouth, his fingers twitching, though she doesn’t give him a moment’s peace. She lowers her head again, sucking him in, hollowing her cheeks, before releasing him yet again, his cock slipping past her lips with an obscene, wet pop. “You know," she muses, "I’d say you’re looking rather stiff.”

A sharp exhale escapes him, a half-laugh, half-moan that only encourages her further. She picks up her pace, taking him deeper, her hands braced against his hips as she moves with a steady rhythm, doing that little thing with her tongue she knows he likes, she knows that everyone likes, a talent truly, swirling all the way around, pressing it flat on the underside of his cock, only to suck her way up, breathe hot air against him, before swallowing him again. 

Between every few breaths, she pulls back just enough to taunt him, her voice syrupy with mock innocence. She can barely hold back the laughter as she watches him react, his hips bucking ever so slightly with each tease, like clockwork, so deliciously predictable. “Come on, love. I thought resurrection was your specialty?”

“Blasphemy,” he mutters above her, though there’s no real heat in his voice. 

“No, no.” She rests her cheek against his thigh, stroking him instead with a slow, deliberate touch, her palm warm and slick, her grip firm. “Think of it as… a rather intensive course in raising the dead.”

The absurdity of it hits her right as she says it—her last attempt at an erotic pun officially surpassed—and she breaks, a snort escaping as she buries her face against his leg, her shoulders shaking with laughter. 

But then she feels his hands shift, pulling her up by her arms, and she yelps, startled, before giggling as he hauls her up, settling her right back on top of him. 

“That’s quite enough of that,” Emmrich whispers. 

As he catches his breath, she wipes her mouth, grinning at him with all the smug satisfaction of someone who’s just completely dismantled a man who prides himself on his restraint. She feels his fingers on her chin as he angles her face back towards his so he can kiss her and she's not shy, she tangles her tongue with his immediately, tasting as much of him as she can reach, even tracing the edge of one canine before retreating for breath. 

“Think you could, I don’t know…” She waves a hand around aimlessly. “Necromance my pants away?” 

He smiles, curling her hair around his fingers where it frames her face. “No, dear. I’m afraid that is not in my skill set.”

[patrophthia]

just curious | theodore nott

pairing: theodore nott x reader

genre: angst, mutual pining (but they don’t get together boo 👎👎👎 me), theodore wears glasses (yes that’s it’s own genre), reader is called princess by everyone bc i didn’t want to use yn in this

wc: 2.2k

note: i wrote this in two hours while listening to super shy - new jeans (intended for it to be a cute fic) and ended up with this angsty little piece, it’s a wip i ended up abandoning but am putting it up for anyone who might like that sexy pining genre of not ending up tgt, also was gonna stay on my docs but got too emotionally attached to not post it (you better talk to me about this theo or i will cry)

Theodore is a friend of Draco. That's how you know him. Theodore Nott: the tall, cute, and quiet friend of Draco's who's eyes —when he smiles, like really smile, curves upwards in an adorable manner. Theodore who, whenever you were to hang out with Draco's friend group, keeps a closed off expression that is so hard to gauge and read that you gave up the second time you met the lad.

The door clicks open and you prepare yourself for what's to come next, taking in a deep breath as you try your hardest to play it cool. Theodore steps into Draco's living room, shopping bags in his hand as Pansy follows him from a few steps behind.

You try not to think too much of it, friends hold shopping bags for their friends all the time, it's only natural. Pansy smiles when she meets your eyes, her voice soft as she nags you on why she hasn't seen you in so long. "Draco ought to bring you around more, I know you're his friend before ours but there's no reason for him to keep you to himself like he does."

Draco scoffs at that, "it's not like I don't invite her, she just doesn't want to come to stuff."

That's not exactly true though. You do want to come to stuff —if anything you loved going to them, Draco's friends have always been very welcoming and accommodated to your every need; it's just that every time you were to spend time with them, it seems like you can't take your eyes off of one particular person (hint: it's not Draco himself).

And quite honestly, you doubted whether he even knows your name. "In my defence, work has been hectic," you deflect with a small laugh, your eyes betrays you and drift to where the real reason stood. Theodore meets your eyes straight on, and offers you a nod as if he's only noticing you now and was saying his greetings. Yeah, he definitely does not know your name. "But I'm here now so let's enjoy it."

Pansy pouts but let's up when Astoria calls for your group of friends from the kitchen, Blaise right behind her with an apron wrapped around his stature. "Well?" He cocks his head. "What are we waiting for?"

Dinner went by smoothly, mostly Blaise stuffing you with his cooking and Pansy catching up with; asking every question she could possibly think of. You didn't mind if for the most part, actually quite enjoying the attention as the group went on and on. "You're shy, aren't you?"

The question is weird, and not exactly directed at you so you turn back to your plate as you take a bite of Blaise's lasagna (Draco helped cook the noodles for this, he wants you to keep this in mind). You feel something kick mid-chew, looking up to the person sitting opposing you; only to see Theodore with his full focus on Pansy.

You turn to her as well and she laughs as she repeats her words. "You're shy, aren't you?"

"Not really?" You don't think you are, not really. You're just trying your hardest not to make it obvious that you're interested in someone at this very table who does not seem to be interested in you one bit. "At least I don't think I am."

Astoria laughs kindly, finding you cute as she says: "you've just been quiet today, you're never like this with Draco and I."

Yeah well Draco and Astoria weren't plaguing your every thought every time you were within one metres of them. "Oh." you murmur. "I guess I'm a bit tired today."

"Work?" Blaise suggests and you shake your head. "What is it then?"

"Just Boy problems," you say off-handedly, quickly regretting it when their faces turn to one of interest. "But it's nothing big, I promise."

"Are you seriously going to tell us that and not elaborate?" Draco looks offended, hell, he feels offended that you weren't elaborating. "What did that dickhead do?"

Your heart warms at the fact that your friend cares about you enough to immediately hate on whoever might be causing you boy problems but are quick to dismiss the situation. "Nothing, drop it."

From the look on their faces, it looks as if they weren't going to drop it anytime soon. Pansy opens her mouth, ready to say something when Theodore clears his throat, letting you hear his voice for the first time tonight. "Why don't you tell them about who you saw at the shops today, Pans."

Her eyes light up suddenly, going off on how she ran into her scumbag of an ex boyfriend as she was shopping for a new dress. Your eyes found Theodore's, sending him a small smile as you mentally note down on how you'd have to thank him for it later.

And when he offers you a small smile in return, his dark eyes softening —yet not enough for you to see those half moons you hold oh so dear to your heart, you try to remind yourself that he is nothing but a man doing the bare minimum.

"Stay the night," Astoria says softly, "it's late, Princess. I can't have you heading back on your own at this hour."

As much as it sounded pleasant, you can't help but feel like you might be intruding their night (even though you've spent countless night crashing at their place after a bad break up before, you guess that it's just different now that you weren't staying to cure a broken heart with a comforting shoulder —Astoria— and someone bad mouthing your ex —Draco—). "I can't," you tell them. "And trust me, I'll be fine."

Draco isn't chuffed by your answer, looking apprehensive as he thought everything over. Blaise and Pansy left for their shared apartment mere minutes ago so it wasn't like he could ensure your safety with them. But someone else was still here though, "Nott, can you take her home?"

Theodore startles from his spot by the coat rack, pausing with one arm in his coat as he looks at Draco like a deer caught in headlights. Cute. He then glances at you before hesitantly nodding.

This is bad. Oh god. Okay.

"Great," Astoria says with a smile. "Take care of our Princess, please." She then turns to look at you. "Call me when you get home safely, okay?"

At your nod, she hugs you goodbye and sends you out the door. Theodore walking slowly by your side. He's silent when he opens his car door for you and you try your best not to swoon. "Thank you."

He hums in acknowledgment as he walks over to the driver's side, Theodore does a double check to make sure you had your seatbelt on before he started the car. The ride is quiet, save from the song playing from the radio; a familiar tune you can't place a finger on.

He asks for your directions and you tell him, sneaking glances as you did so. His hair is longer than it was the last time you saw him —but to be fair, it has been months since you did; a few dark strands cover his eyes and you resist the urge to reach out and push them away. Maybe even taking out a hair clip from your purse to pin it back just so he wouldn't have to deal with it again.

It's calm and overwhelming at the same time, sitting so still and tranquil next to Theodore like this. You want to say something, you want him to say something; anything if meant you get to hear his voice again. If it meant you get a chance to memorise it and compartmentalise it in a folder that is ardently his.

"Oh thank you by the way." He looks at you for a split second before turning his focus back to the road. "For switching the topic back there."

Theodore only nods and you try not to cry. Why won't he speak? It's almost like he doesn't even want you to be interested in him.

"I really do appreciate it."

He hums this time around, a low note vibrating from his chest. It's either a nod or a hum, that's all you're ever going to get from Theodore, huh?

You bite the inside of your cheeks, looking straight at the road as you did so. Should you even attempt to make small talk? All your attempts have been futile so far so why even try. You didn't mean to huff, or at least not as loud as you did, your arms instinctively as you looked out the window absentmindedly.

This catches Theodore's attention though, prompting to finally say something. "Thinking about those boy problems again?"

You don't answer him, you don't let yourself feel the satisfaction of finally hearing him speak for the second time tonight. You don't say anything related to that topic whatsoever. "Do you have a girlfriend, Theodore?"

You can hear the hitch in his breath, see the surprise in his rapid blinks, feel the shift in the air. The car pulls to a stop at a red light, the tail lights of a car a few metres in front of you shines your faces the same shade.

He looks at you and you hope —no pray, that he doesn't notice the sparkle in your eyes as you look at him. Or maybe you do, you can't tell anymore. The only thing you can tell is that you are so incredibly into Theodore Nott, and him driving you home is not helping your case at all.

"No," he says earnestly. You don't let your eyes flicker to his lips, you don't let your eyes flicker to anything else but his eyes, trying to gauge him for something; anything, only to end up finding nothing.  "Why are you asking?"

A car honks from behind, breaking the two of you away from your trance. "Just curious."

You thank Theodore as he pulls to a stop outside your house, he —just like you would expect from Theodore Nott, only nods at your thanks. And when you bid him goodbye with one leg out of his car.

He tells you, "Goodnight, Princess."

Princess, that's what your friends called you. That's what Draco Malfoy called you at the ripe age of ten years old where the two of you would play royalty and would later be his favourite nickname for you, then further on your other friend's choice of name for you. That's what Theodore Nott calls you because he does not know your name.

"Goodnight, Theodore." You shut his car door behind you, and take a few steps to your front door before turning over your shoulder. Looking back at him at once, finding him reaching for his glasses within his glove compartment; ones with round wired frames that settle flatteringly on his high nose bridge. He shuts his glove compartment box and you turn back to your front door. And unbeknownst to you, with your back to him, Theodore turns to look at you once, and then, twice when you finally enter your house, before finally driving off and into the night.

Curiosity kills the cat, that’s what Theodore thinks as he unlocks his front door. Curiosity kills the cat, is what he reminds himself time and time again as he sheds off his jacket. Curiosity kills the cat, that’s what he knows from the start. But how could curiosity really kill the cat if it was already dying? 

If it had already yearned for something for long; a clenching thirst yet to be fulfilled, if it was already wailing to just be held, would curiosity really kill it then? 

It's weird. It's weird how —now that he thinks of it, he can't seem to recall you ever going on a date. Not a single one. While him on the other hand; yeah, he can't exactly count the amount of dates he’s gone on in the past month on one hand. 

It's not entirely his fault though, he’s trying to put himself out there; trying to find the one despite knowing that said one is constantly running around the back of his mind and was sitting in his passenger seat mere minutes ago. But he chooses to ignore it because one, it's wrong and there was no way you could ever reciprocate his feelings. And two, even if you were to reciprocate his feelings, he will never cross the line between platonic and romantic. 

He’d take the endless yearning over any potential heartbreak any day because the second he crosses the line, there's no turning back. And no amount of romantic feelings you might have for one another will make up for the years of friendship between him, you, and most importantly, Draco. The blond was your best friend before anything else, and he doubts you’d ever risk ruining your friendship for someone like him.

So, for now, he’d settled for the guilt he feels every time he sees you; he’ll hold back on his urges even though it’s clearer to him now, in this very night, than ever that you are as infatuated with him as he is with you. 

He’ll take off his glasses, he’ll place them by his bedside table, he’ll lay in his bed, cold and alone, he’ll try to fall asleep and not think of you, he’ll try and try to make it through tomorrow, make it through the date that Blaise had set up (yet again) for him that will inevitably be the worse hours of his life and think about what it be like had his date been you instead. 

— from bee: yeah i wrote this theodore with jeon wonwoo in mind so what about it?? theodore is so wonwoo coded idc idc

[calissto]

On Writing Every Day

Possibly the most ubiquitous piece of writing advice: write everyday. Write every day or you’re not a writer, your work has no value, you’ll never get good, you’ll never go pro. Maybe I am at a bit of a disadvantage because I’ve never published a book, but I feel like I have some place to question this motion. 

Don’t write every day. Write often.

Because I agree; writing is like a muscle; you must train it. You have to exercise your vocabulary, your voice, your prose — all as often as you can. It’s essential. But you can do all of these things without gluing yourself to the chair each and every day. Some of us just can’t do that — some of us have obligations; a job, school, sickness, or emergencies. Things come up. And some of us just don’t want to. And that’s okay, too. 

I say write often because it’s a promise you can keep. No matter how pressed for time, you can construct a schedule around often. You can stick to that. Practice becomes joyous instead of overwhelming. You will improve without being weighed down by guilt clouding your judgment, adding on to the already compounding series of worries and doubts you have about your identity as a writer anyway. 

Often can look like this: every other day, a few days a week, a few days a month. Often is up to you. It’s a malleable guideline, and that’s why I like it. It’s about constant practice — routinely coming to dance with your writerly spirit without letting it die nor allowing it to overshadow everything else you are. You can be a writer and other things, too. It’s essential you are other things, too, otherwise you pigeonhole yourself and dull any unique perspective you may bring to the vast, ever-broadening literary table. Have something to share with your peers. Something to bestow. Besides, some of us have dreams besides writing we would like to pursue, and we have every right to pursue them. 

I think writing (well) is so demanding we sometimes forget writing is an incredibly forgiving art. It doesn’t usually feel like it. Writing is difficult (because it is everything) and mystifying and capricious. It feels like the most unforgiving art (because it is: it can be forgiving and unforgiving all at the same time, because it is everything). The muse coquettishly woos us one day then sets us on fire the next. You can have amazing ideas and, propelled by the whirlwind it conjures in your mind, sit down to write and hate everything you put down. The inner critic can be restricting, mean, impossible to satisfy. Plots can get dizzyingly convoluted and messy (and sometimes they don’t come at all! Yay!), wips take years and decades to perfect. You can spend hours, days, weeks, months, years in confusion as to what the fuck you’re even meant to be doing in order to make your story work. Just thinking about all this makes me tired. Writing can be grueling.

But it is also forgiving. 

We can take our time. We can fix our stories again and again and again. We can wait until we're ready for the world to see it.

A contradictory mistress, writing is. The truth is your writing hands will not fall off if you choose to take some time off. You do not really forget to write creatively. Oh, you can get rusty, and it can take some time to get your groove back, but the talent you’ve accumulated (and, perhaps, have been born with) does not evaporate out of thin air just because you step away from your word processor. I, myself, have stepped away from writing for large swaths of time only to return just as strong as I was before. If this is indeed a problem for you, I suggest reading more often — just so you can remain close to writing without actually doing it. You can stay familiar and play with language and characters and plotting without actually doing anything— watch essays on movies and characters. Stay engaged. Don’t feel like your talents will be irrevocably blunted by a break, no matter how long it is.

I often think writers are their own jailers, while other writers you associate with and look up to can function as fellow wardens; what exactly is gonna happen if you don’t write everyday? I’ve come to really detest writing “rules.” There are no rules — they aren’t even rules to be broken. There are guidelines and things that have worked in the past. The trick is to learn what has worked for others, why, and what works for you. Mix and match at your own discretion. The life of a writer is often a solitary, lonesome affair. Not just because you do it yourself, but because you are your own god; a huge part of being a writer is fashioning things for yourself, coming up with your own rules, if you dare to call them as such. You conjure up worlds for your own amusement. So, the way we find ourselves chained to the so-called rules and those who espouse them has become kinda hilarious to me.

Also, go ahead and accept this: a lot of what defines good writing is completely out of your hands. What is popular and lauded as a masterpiece today may be rejected and ignored tomorrow. There are principles to help you bridge the gap of generations — compelling characters, thoughtful plotting, and, oh, idk, basic understanding of storytelling elements etc, but we all will have our own personal talents as writers. Rest assured, you’ll be an acquired taste, so go ahead and study your own talents and strengths as a word person. What are the things you love about writing? What do you like to zero in on? What do you look forward to? Focus on those things, and just try to have a basic grasp of other, essential things.

The point is this: if writing really is that important to you, it will be in your life somehow. You won’t have to make room so much as it will wedge itself into one of the movie theater seats in your mind. Your mind will wander to your wips. You’ll think of your characters at random times. You’ll picture your settings and scenes will just randomly come to you. Don’t worry about it so much! Write often, stay engaged, but if you need a break, take one.

[frozenjokes]

grub snippet

“Right.” Cub looked amused, “I guess that means you’ve made plans then?”

“Of course I’ve made plans!” Grian straightened up, pleased, and flared his wings to show them off, feathers recently preened and painstakingly brushed through. It took a moment for him to catch the undertones of Cub’s words, the hint of disappointment behind the question. “I- I mean unless you had any ideas! I’m very flexible.”

“Oh, it’s nothing much, really. I was just curious about that government building all the superheroes file in and out of, y’know. Where you and HotGuy have been working out? You said a lot of stuff was centralized there, right? Tailors and such for costuming, private gyms and break rooms, weapon smiths.. anything a hero could need, really.” Cub shrugged, a lazy, deliberate smile crossing his face, the kind of expression Grian only saw on Cub when he was about to suggest something stupid or illegal.

“Okay..”

“You think they have gunpowder? I mean, I’m sure they do, but I’m also looking for other minerals, dyes, things along those lines. I bought the casings already, but I was just thinking, your place probably has an abundance of the stuff I need, and I doubt they’d notice if a few things went missing.”

So stupid AND illegal today. “Cub, are you asking me to steal extremely shady materials from a government facility for you.”

“Of course not. You don’t know what I’m looking for exactly, and you don’t have the tact for this sort of thing. I’m asking you to bring me with you so I can steal shady materials from a government facility.”

Grian was suddenly forced to reconsider every denial of his feelings for Cub at therapy today in one fell swoop. He barely had the words to speak, the revelation making his mouth run dry. “That sounds very illegal, Cub. They don’t even like me there, I don’t know if that’s a great idea at this point in time.” There was no rejection or denial under Grian’s voice, only some sort of lovesick fascination, the kind of feelings he always felt when he remembered Cub was easily just as fucked in the head as he was.

“I don’t think we’ll have any issues. If I’m being honest, I’m sure you’re far from the only bad tempered hero in their roster. They probably hate everyone who goes in and out of that place. I was thinking you get me in as your private scientist, assistant, whatever. I make you shit. And if they push back, you give them hell. You’re probably high profile enough to get what you want, right? Or maybe you should be nice instead. They might appreciate that. Or they might be suspicious. It doesn’t matter. I bought a lab coat and everything.”

“You- seriously?”

“Well I wanted one anyway, and I thought I might need it. You’ve got a job now, so I figured I’d treat myself.”

“Lab coats can not be that expensive- actually, don’t respond to that. I don’t want to know. I do want to know what you’re planning on doing with gunpowder though. You’re not making bombs, are you?”

“Not like, big bombs.”

“Cub!”

“I want to make fireworks. I want to try. How much do you know about fireworks, Grian? They’re really very cool. I’ve been watching all sorts of videos; went all the way down the rabbit hole. They’re awesome, man. I gotta try. I gotta.”

“You. Are going to lose all of your fingers. Possibly your arms.”

Cub didn’t miss a beat. “Technology is crazy, I bet they can sew that shit right back on.”

“Not if you blow yourself up!”

“I probably won’t blow myself up. I’m assuming that’s a ‘no’ then for working on this in the apartment.” Cub smirked, and Grian could only gape stupidly for a few moments, utterly shocked.

“You absolutely can not play with explosives in our apartment!”

“Gotcha,” Cub laughed, and Grian groaned into his hands, dragging them all the way down his face.

just a wip I wanted to share. I’m having a bad day so I just wanted to post a little something. If you’re interested in the rest of the story you can read it on ao3 here

[lavampira]

wip whenever

tagged by @redwayfarers @impossible-rat-babies @coldshrugs earlier this week so I scrounged up some of the sidalia wip to microdose on making progress by sharing bits of it <: and I’ll tag @hythlodaes @birues @scionshtola @hylfystt @gwynbleidd @carlosoliveiraa @sirotras @ghostwise @queenofthieves @creaking-skull @perpetuagf @kirnet @aphoticfairy @oh-yeah-no @yloiseconeillants if anyone has things to share!!

[parent death tw + spoilers for ffxiv heavensward and drk 60-70 quests]

The last hazy flickers of light filter through the cabin windows with the sun dipping below the Tailfeather horizon, leaving the need for the lit lantern to see as they work. D’alia glances across the wobbly square table at the concentrating children while their small, nimble fingers slowly attempt to weave twine into braided cords, so intent on turning them into bracelets under her instruction. ‘Twas meant to be a simple task to occupy them quietly before bed and recover from the day, but she had underestimated the competitive streak between them.

“Does it go this way?” Rielle asks, showing her efforts with a pinched brow.

“Not quite.” D’alia reaches across the table to adjust the girl’s fingers, still holding onto the colorful strands, and guides her through the step with a gentle hand. “Think of it like braiding hair, if it helps.”

Myste snickers as he watches over Rielle’s shoulder. Her blonde head snaps to him, and she sticks out her tongue, which he readily mimics before the pair descend into a fit of youthful giggles. D’alia allows a small smile to grace her lips as she continues to braid her own cord. After how despondent that Myste had grown in his latest failed endeavor, she will gladly take the improvement.

Rielle faces her again as they settle. “When did you learn to make these?”

“As a child—”

“A member of her tribe taught her after her parents died,” Myste interrupts, ignoring the sharp glance Rielle sends him to meet D’alia’s gaze as she stills. ‘Twas not a question, she notes curiously, but before she can comment on it, he adds, “Am I right?”

After a moment, D’alia simply mutters, “Aye.”

“You miss them.”

Yet another statement, wrenched from the confines of her heart. Her eyes seek Sidurgu still seated on a wooden chair by the door. He remains hunched over his sword in his ministrations to oil the blade, but his gaze is already on her beneath the flop of silvery fringe over his forehead. She can’t read his expression in the dim light, and he says naught of it, though he’s scarcely said much since his resigned suggestion to stay in the village a while longer in order to assuage Myste once the dust had settled.

“I do, but I’ve also made my peace with my past,” D’alia finally says, turning back to the children. No longer in the mood to braid cords, she slides her unfinished bracelet to Rielle, offering a tight smile as she rises to her feet. “Since you’re getting the hang of these, would you mind if I leave mine in your capable hands so I can draw a bath?”

The young girl beams. “I don’t mind.”

D’alia pats her cheek with a gentle palm before tucking a tendril of hair behind her pointed ear. She leaves the children to their task, knowing Sidurgu will mind them in her absence as he has in her weeks away from them, and she tries not to dwell on the guilt of it. Instead, she leans on the desperation to soothe the fresh ache in her muscles and cleanse the remaining sweat and grime from her body and follows the hall in search of the bath.

‘Tis a rather small cabin, but far more than she had expected upon requesting to stay in the village, complete with two rooms to sleep, a cramped room to wash, and an even tinier kitchen in comparison to the rows of cots and bunks that she remembered from not so long ago. Marcechamp had insisted for the one who’d helped to achieve Ysayle’s vision and her companions, though not without eyeing Sidurgu’s glowering form and the quiet elezen children behind her warily as she’d forced a smile and thanked him for the generosity through her tightening throat.

For as much as she claims to have made her peace with her past, it still has a way of haunting her every move. She can at least think of the tribe that her adoptive parent and she had left behind for the safety of Revenant’s Toll’s walls without the roiling guilt and loss that threatens to pull her under its murkiness these days.

She doesn’t know when she can say the same of Ysayle.

Or Haurchefant.

[avalynlestrange]

Love Story

Theodore Nott x Reader

Reader: she/her pronouns

Warnings: None I don’t think? I didn’t proof read

Category: Fluff, Modern Timeline AU, One-Shot, Songfic

Summary: In which Theodore surprises you with Eras Tour tickets.

No Sneak Peaks 😋

Request: @lucywritess requested based on @annaisabookworm ‘s post

Author’s Note: Hope you enjoy~ <3 This was really fun to write

Word Count: 1k

To The Library (my masterlist)

To The Kitchen (my WIPs)

To more Theodore Nott fics

To Fearless TV Anthology

You were quite upset when you couldn’t buy tickets to Taylor Swift’s Era’s tour. You had your boyfriend, Theodore, wait for the tickets during his work at the ministry whilst you were at home on a day off. However, neither of you managed to get any tickets.

Pansy didn’t get any tickets either, so she planned on throwing an era’s party instead at her family’s summer house. The theme, ofcourse, is to dress as an era.

“I’ve nearly finished my outfit!” You squeal. Theo slides his office chair to peep in your office.

On the tailor’s dummy was a blurple body suit inspired by Taylor’s Midnights Costume. The sparkles brings you so much joy but not as much as Theo’s coupling outfit.

“That looks gorgeous, sweetheart.” He eyes the outfit up and down.

“And you’re going to look fantastic next to me in your chair t-shirt!” You grin at him.

The doorbell rings and you jump in excitement.

“That must be my matching dress shirt and boots!~” You sing as you sprint to the front door.

Meanwhile, Theodore walks to the garage to place something in the boot of the car. He smiles to himself and sends a text to Pansy.

Theo: ‘Make sure to text her that your party changed venue to the one near the stadium so she doesn’t suspect us driving near there.’

Pansy: ‘Duh! I got you dude! I can’t wait for you two to get back from the concert!!!!’

Theo: ‘Thanks. I hope it goes well.’

“Babe! The beads are here we gotta make some more bracelets! Pansy said she’s invited a lot of people!” He hears you shouting from the kitchen.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

⳾*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*⳾

The day of the party is the same day as the concert. Pansy told you she set it up that way since she knew a lot of Swifties that were in the same position as the both of you. You were even more thrilled when she mentioned she managed to book a venue near the stadium so that you can hear Queen Swift herself through the echoes of the speakers of the concert.

You stayed up all night to make bracelets and finish off your body suit. It was all worth it. Theo suggest that you can always nap on the way to the event and that’s what you did. He brought you a pillow and placed your to-go make up bag in the glove compartment so you can touch up beforehand.

When you arrived he gentle wakes you.

“Darling, we’re here. I couldn’t find a parking space near the venue but I luckily found one in the stadium.” He lies but you are still prying your eyes open to realise.

Whilst you applied some make up to correct smudges, Theo goes to the boot of the car and places items in his jacket pocket. He walks to your car door and opens it.

“Ready my sweet?” He offers you a hand that you gladly take. He starts leading you towards one of the entrances of the stadium.

“Where are you going? Isn’t the venue the other way?” You ask, puzzled. Still you allow him to walk you closer and closer to entrance.

“Maybe we can go in and buy some merch before we go to the party?” His hand is firm in yours ensuring you don’t detour back to the opposite direction.

“Babe it doesn’t work like that.”

“Oh well then good thing I have these.” He takes out two V.I.P. lanyards.

You are speechless as he puts one of them on you. When reality hit you, you jump up and hug him.

“I can’t believe you did this for me!” You sniffle.

“Hey hey! Save your tears for Miss Swift.”

⳾*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*⳾

Nothing could beat this feeling.

You are standing in front of the stage. Your Theo had bought you both front standing tickets. It is all like a fever dream. You exchange your bracelets with other fans and they appreciate your couples costume so much that some even asked to take photos with you.

And to add even more delight, Theo brought a muggle polaroid camera to capture your experience.

The countdown clock hits 5 seconds and the lights dim.

🎵 It’s been a long time coming 🎵

You, along with thousands of fans scream at the top of your lungs. Theo smiles and captures a photo. Jumping and singing throughout the concert. Slow dancing with Theo during ballads.

Theo swears the twinkle in your eyes is shining brighter than anything on the stage. Even brighter when the first notes of your couple song plays.

🎵 We were both young when I first saw you 🎵

You had met in first year of Hogwarts on the boats leading up to the castle. He saved you from falling off it when you thought you saw a mermaid tail swimming near the surface.

🎵 You were Romeo & you were throwing pebbles 🎵

Literally happened in fourth year. Theo on his broom throwing rocks at your bedroom door during summer holidays when he was missing you. Your family weren’t very happy with the broken window but did find it very sweet. Young love.

🎵 Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone 🎵

You both focus on each other than the crowds and the performance. Bodies swaying together, Theo twirling you, and kisses during music breaks in the song.

🎵 And my daddy said stay away from Juliet 🎵

Flashbacks to when your family disapproved of Theo when his father was sent to Azkaban. But you both fought for your love and here you were now.

🎵This love is difficult but it’s so real 🎵

Your family eventually embraced him when they saw how he protected you throughout the second wizarding war. Not a scar was on you. He made sure of it.

🎵 Is this in my head I don’t know what to think 🎵

Theo kneels down and pulled out a ring and mouthed the words to you.

“Yes yes yes!” You cry out as he places the ring on your finger.

He picks you up and swirls you. You were wrong earlier. This is the best you’ve felt in your life.

[thatmexisaurusrex]

🔥🔥🔥, please!

Make Me Write Monday

Nice! For my current WIP, my Buck 1.0/118!Tommy fic, The First Evan! Lol I know I'm only supposed to write three sentences. But I thought fuck it, and I'm going to give a spoiler to something in the fic and I'm writing more than three sentences for this. I'll put it under the read more just in case no one wants to be spoiled. The spoiler is intense and is a plot point that someone actually asked about in the comments of the last chapter 😂 so, you've been warned. Enjoy!

“What do you think is a good ‘I’m sorry for our last fight?’ wine?”

A lot of people randomly asked Tommy things. Tommy wasn’t sure if he just had the face of someone to pour out your soul to or if he had some sort of energy about him, but random strangers tended to ask him things often or began out of the blue conversations with him.

Tommy.

Didn’t particularly like that. He didn’t really like situations where he had to talk to random strangers when all he wanted to do was buy some nice beer for Maddie to celebrate her new place. Alas, such was life. And despite Tommy’s want to not engage in this conversation, Tommy glanced to the side to find the man who asked. He seemed… out of place. Something about him wasn’t quite California.

But.

Hey.

A lot of people moved to Los Angeles. Maybe Tommy was overthinking whatever feeling he was getting from this guy. It was probably nothing.

“Someone I know just moved into a new place and I want to mend some fences,” further explained the man.

“I, uh. I don’t actually know much about wine,” said Tommy, because he found himself drawn into these sorts of conversations even when he didn’t want to be in them, “But, uh. My friend Chimney knows wine pretty well – Chimney?”

Tommy looked around. He knew that Chimney was around here somewhere. Evan and Eddie were in the store too, but Tommy didn’t know if Evan or Eddie knew wine.

Chimney and Eddie popped their heads down the aisle, fancy cheeses and meats in hand. They tossed their charcuterie into the shopping cart as Chimney said, “What do you need, Tommy?”

“Oh. It’s me. Hi,” said the man as he extended a hand, “Jason Bailey. I was just looking for a good ‘I’m sorry wine’. Chimney, was it? And Tommy?”

Tommy.

Reluctantly shook the man’s hand. But then immediately felt the need to say, “I have a boyfriend already, sorry. And Chimney’s kind of – well you’re not with her. But you’re going out on a date soon, right?”

Because.

Maybe Tommy just read the room wrong here. Sometimes Tommy did. He didn’t always pick up what people were putting down for him. It happened enough for Tommy to at least need to clarify.

Chimney beamed at the mention of it.

The date.

“I mean, it’s only a first date. And I don’t want to pressure her or anything. Her last relationship ended pretty badly, so… we’re taking it slow,” gushed Chimney, “But we’ll see how it goes.”

“Eddie’s single, now, though. Recently single,” suggested Tommy.

Eddie laughed.

“No. I am – I’m not in the headspace to date anyone. And I don’t think you’re my type, honestly?” said Eddie apologetically, “Sorry, man.”

“That’s so cute. The date. Not the recent divorce. I’m not – this isn’t me hitting on anyone. I’m actually buying this for my wife. We’re, uh. In a bit of a rough patch. I’m trying to smooth some things over,” explained Jason.

“Didn’t you say the wine was for someone you know who just moved into a new place and you wanted to mend some fences with?” asked Tommy, a little confused.

Jason shrugged.

His eyes.

A little dead when they gazed at Tommy for a moment. Or. Or maybe Tommy was seeing things that weren’t actually happening, because it didn’t look like anyone else noticed that. Maybe Tommy was being hypersensitive because of how this was just giving him flashbacks.

“I did say it was an ‘I’m sorry for our last fight’ wine too,” Jason pointed out.

Something. Felt wrong about this.

It reminded Tommy of his mom. His mom getting presents when she still had a black eye. That apology tour his father always went on after a particularly heated argument of his own making.

And.

No.

Not everyone was like that… right?

“Separated, huh? Yeah. Been there. It’s rough. But sometimes, it’s good to give them the space. To figure themselves out,” said Eddie, a little – a little more at peace with his own divorce, “You can’t hold onto someone who doesn’t want to be with you.”

For a moment, Jason looked like he might break the bottle of wine in his hands. He might just break it on Eddie. And reflexively, Tommy found himself subtly stepping between Eddie and this random man.

Something about his eyes.

Some anger that went away just as fast as it came.

It.

It reminded Tommy of his dad.

Impulsive. Rage at the drop of a hat. A charming smile in public.

Tommy didn’t like this conversation.

Jason’s anger eased as quickly as it came. And Tommy wondered if he had just been seeing things. Reading into things. It wasn’t as if Eddie or Chimney reacted to Jason the same way. Neither of them were feeling that fight or flight response, that panic quickening Tommy’s heartbeat.

“I think she’d like to see me,” Jason said amicably.

And.

Tommy was probably overthinking things, right? He wasn’t sure if Jason noticed what Tommy had done. If that was an overstep on Tommy’s part. If he was just being overprotective over a friend who could most definitely handle himself in a fight and Tommy knew that.

Tommy.

Needed to not be here.

“I’m, uh. I’m not very useful in this conversation, anyway. I’m going to go find where Evan went off to,” said Tommy as he turned the cart around and left the aisle.

Left Eddie and Chimney with Jason.

And he felt terrible doing that. But he really needed to stop talking to that man.

[lunastarhawk]

WiP Proof of Life Wednesday

Despite Dragon Age consuming more of my free time than it should, part 28 of Tides is still cooking! Albeit at a gentle simmer. Like a good soup. Here's a (slightly suggestive) appetiser...

(For context if you haven't read what's already up on AO3, this is a flashback of Julian and Altheia's forgotten past, as the whole chapter is them performing the ritual to unlock those memories)

He sat back on his heels, hands on his thighs, and looked up at her.  She bit her lip, smiling.  But when Julian didn’t move, the smile became something else, something uncertain.  She threaded her fingers through his hair, catching on the tangled curls, looking down at him almost contemplatively.  He slid his hands up the outside of her lean thighs, settling at her hips, long fingers pressing against her flesh.  He felt as if he was waiting for her command.   “You don’t have to kneel for me, you know,” she said, a twist of a smile to her lips. “But I want to.” The words came out before he even knew they were there, and he clamped his mouth shut too late.  But he’d said it now.  And it was true, he did want to kneel in front of her, to do whatever would please her.  It was agonising, this need to be told what to do for her, what to give over to her, what part of him she wanted to take.  His synapses prickled with anticipation, eager to jump at her command. Her eyes widened a little in surprise.  And then there was a sudden shadow of vulnerability there.  It surprised Julian, that she, who was so self-assured, so confident in command of a ship and its crew, should feel uncertain of accepting his submission. He closed his eyes, his lashes brushing the soft skin of her belly as his lips pressed a kiss there.  He felt the low thrum of a burst of a slightly nervous laugh.  Her fingers moved through his hair again, brushing it back so she could see his face as he turned up to her. “And what should I do with you?” she asked, a question that felt partly rhetorical, sounding out what he meant, what he wanted, what she wanted. “Well, that depends.”  He arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting to match.  “Am I your guest?  Or… am I your prisoner?” He waggled his eyebrows and she gave a startled laugh, left in absolutely no doubt what his preference and intention was.  She tilted her head curiously. “You trust me?” “Altheia, I… I know I've only known you a short time–” “A night and a day is shorter than short,” she quipped. “Even so, I feel… I feel safe.  With you.” That admission surprised Julian almost as much as it surprised Altheia, judging by the look on her face. “Safe?” “Mmm.  Don't ask me to explain it, I can't.  But it… feeling safe, it's… rare.  For me.” He swallowed thickly.  As the silence lingered on, Altheia's fingernails absently scraping lightly over his scalp, he began to wish he could take his words back.   “Sor–” “If I’m going to take you prisoner,” she interrupted, her voice suddenly husky in a way that made Julian ache, “I’ll need to tie you up, don’t you think?” “Yes!  Yes, please, do that.” “You’re not supposed to want to be tied up,” she said, trying to hide a laugh. “O-oh of course.”  He cleared his throat.  “Oh no, please don’t tie me up, that would be awful, I’d hate that, whatever you do please don’t do that.”  He grinned up at her laugh.  “How’s that?” She held his head between her hands on his temples, and bent to brush her lips over his, her dark hair cascading around him, coarse with sea salt and the smell of bonfire smoke and rum.   “I’ll get the rope.”

I hope I'll have the chapter up by next Wednesday 🤞

[moonlit-han]

super secret project! do not enter!!

pairing: lee felix x gender-neutral reader genre/au: fluffiest of fluff, est. relationship word count: 1.1k  warnings: two (2) slightly suggestive comments request: yes (well, mostly) a/n: (oh gods, this has been on the wip list for way too long). hello to the anon from becca’s blog: it’s finally here, the felix wedding scrapbooking fic we’ve all been waiting for! i hope you like it!! ✨

↠ masterlist to reblog |  comments & feedback encouraged! ↞

↠↞

“Lix?” You called, having not heard from your boyfriend for roughly an hour. While it wasn’t unusual for him to go into his own little world in your shared bedroom, whether that be for gaming, chatting with friends overseas, or just reading—a full hour without him coming to find you or texting you, even when both of you were home, was definitely out of the ordinary.

So, you made your way to the bedroom’s closed door and lightly tapped on the wood. “Yeah?” Came the muffled reply.

“You good, baby?”

“Yep!”

“Can I come in?” You asked, opening the door before Felix could answer.

After all, it wasn’t as if either of you had anything to hide. On the rare occasions you did, like when wrapping birthday presents and such, notes to the effect of “Super Secret Project In Progress. Do Not Enter. I Love You!!!!!” were typically taped to the door.

As you entered, Felix looked up with a look on his face you’d only really ever seen on a cat. It was as if you’d caught him just after he’d knocked a glass of water off the counter or had ripped a rug to shreds. Before you could say anything, your boyfriend was shoving the papers strewn over the desk into a pile and stuffing them into a drawer, then standing in front of said desk with a foot on said drawer to stop it from popping open.

You giggled. “Babe, whatcha got there?” 

“Nothing, just something I was working on,” Felix said nonchalantly. As if he could appear anything short of guilty now that he’d so clearly been working on something he did not want you to see.

You sauntered toward him, swinging the overlong sleeves of your—his—hoodie as you went. “You sure about that? Are you sure it’s not something for me?”

“Oh, very sure, honey,” Felix replied, nodding and grinning like a fool.

You hummed, snaking your arms around his waist as you reached him and staring directly into his eyes. “You know, Lix,” you mused, “your ears always turn red and you end up staring into space a little more than usual when you’re lying.” You smirked. “Your ears are red.”

Felix huffed a laugh, returning your embrace. “My ears also turn red whenever I’m particularly excited to see you.”

“Right, that’s not the only thing that happens, baby,” you said, pressing yourself against him and letting your hands slide just that much closer to his ass.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Felix warned, moving away just enough to end up dropping his foot to the floor. Taking advantage of his distraction, you tried to disentangle yourself from your boyfriend’s arms.

“Now let’s see what you were—” you began, only to be pulled away by Felix.

“Nope, secret project, baby,” he insisted, resorting to lightly tickling your sides and kissing your cheek as you squirmed and reached for the drawer. “You are so not finding out what that was.”

“But Lix, I wanna know!” You whined, doing your best impression of his sister’s youngest child. “Please?”

“Nope!” Felix said, now having successfully maneuvered the two of you over to the bed. You quickly found yourself flat on your back on the mattress with Felix over you, still tickling you.

“Please, please, please?” You begged, but to no avail. At this point, you weren’t even sure whether you were begging for Felix to tell you what he’d been doing or to stop tickling you.

“Only if you give me a kiss,” he relented, pausing for a moment.

You stared up at your boyfriend, his eyes sparkling and cheeks ever so slightly flushed—and ears tinged a cherry red—and gave in.

It wasn’t such a hardship, after all.

Craning your neck, you pressed your lips to his in a brief kiss. “Okay, you’ve got your kiss. Can I see what you were doing now?” You said confidently.

“That was barely a kiss,” Felix said sorrowfully. “I’m so unloved. The love of my life won’t even kiss me properly anymore.” He pouted.

And who were you to deny him?

Ten minutes later, you were both quite out of breath and more than a little excitable. “So, Lixie, my baby, my darling,” you panted. “Are you going to tell me what you were working on now that you’ve gotten a little more than just a kiss?”

Felix sighed, burying his face in your neck. “Okay, but it’s a little embarrassing.”

You stroked his hair. “I’m sure whatever it you’ve done is lovely.”

Felix slid backward off the bed, grasping your hands as he went so that you sat up as he stood. “Here, um… Just close your eyes for a moment. Please?”

You nodded, even going so far as to cover your eyes with your fingers.

After some rustling and little comments along the lines of “Okay, that goes there and that goes… Shit. Not there,” from your boyfriend, you felt warm hands cup your cheeks and soft lips press to yours.

“Come see,” Felix murmured against your mouth.

What lay before you on the desk took your breath away. “Is that…” you began, leaning forward to peer at the little photos and dried flowers on the pages of what was unmistakably a scrapbook.

“It’s us,” Felix said, hand securely around your waist.

“Is this a wedding scrapbook, Lix?” You asked, voice quiet with admiration and more love than you knew what to do with.

“Maybe…”

“I love it, baby,” you said, turning to kiss Felix’s cheek. “Can you show me all of it?”

So, he did. There were pictures of the two of you, more dried flowers—“This is what I’d have in my boutonniere!”—pictures of your friends, drawings of table settings, pictures of suits and dresses and everything in between… In short, Felix had compiled all his dreams and wishes for a wedding into one book.

“Wait,” you said after looking through the entire scrapbook. “Does this mean… Are you… Are we?”

“If you’re asking if I’d like to marry you, Y/N, then yes. Yes, I would, if you’ll have me,” Felix said sincerely. “It would be the greatest honor of my life if I could marry you.”

You threw your arms around Felix’s neck, clinging tightly to him as your murmured—and squealed—“Yes! Yes!” He spun you around, the two of you laughing and giddy, before finally stopping to kiss you soundly again.

“I love you, Felix,” you said, gazing at the man who would someday be your husband. The thought alone gave you such a thrill.

“I love you, too. More than you know.”

“Care to show me?” You asked mischievously.

“Later, later,” Felix promised. “But first I have a very serious question.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Which one of us will wear the garter belt?”

You burst out laughing, drawing him back down onto the bed again. The rest of the evening passed languidly, the two of you moving from the bed to the bath and finally to the kitchen, content and more in love than either of you thought possible.

Perhaps, some Super Secret Projects were worth the wait…

[eridanidreams]

WIP Wednesday

from a future chapter of *stars through my fingers like grains of sand*

Cora followed Dad and Captain Cait down the ramp of the Razorleaf. They were having a real quiet conversation—maybe even an argument, given the way Cait’s jaw had set—and Cora tried to stay out of those.

Usually coming to Neon was a special treat, but this time she was more worried than excited. It had taken her a day of working herself up to it to talk to Dad about Mom going quiet, mostly because she’d kind of gone behind his back to talk to Mom. Oh, he would have let her do it, but he’d have gotten all upset about it first—not that she was talking to Mom, but that she was the one who was making things work. “It’s our job to make things happen for you, sweet pea.” But at least this way she got to see her mom on video calls.

Dad also thought that Mom could handle anything that came her way, and so did the other Rangers. But Cora listened to people, and she’d overheard Dad tell Andi once that he felt a lot more comfortable traveling with Cait, because they could back each other up. And if that were true for just exploring—though Cora knew they were doing more than exploring, she’d seen them come back with bullet scars on their suits once or twice—then it had to be even more true for Rangering. So when Mom didn’t respond when she said she was going to… well, that was an ultra mega bad thing.

So she’d expected Dad not to take her seriously. Not because he didn’t take her seriously, but because it was about her mom and Mom really was that good. She hadn’t expected Cait to stand up for her, though. Cait had just looked at her—she didn’t have a good way to describe it; it was kind of weird and kind of neat all at the same time—and then she told Dad they needed to follow up on this, that she thought it was serious. Cora would have hugged her in thanks, but she was too worried and Cait was a little uncomfortable about being hugged, like she didn’t know what to do with them. She’d originally thought that was weird, but then she went and considered it like Cait had suggested, and that had culminated in a talk with Dad.

“Dad, do you think Cait had a bad childhood?” Dad had just finished reading to her, and she was still all snuggled up in his embrace. (A lot of girls her age said they were too old for that sort of thing, but Dad gave the absolute best cuddles and Cora was determined to never grow out of them.)

He’d looked down at her, eyes serious. “Well, gumdrop, why do you ask?” He did that a lot, answering a question with another question, but she didn’t mind. Dad said he liked ‘seeing her think’. And when she talked things out with him, sometimes she realized she knew the answer herself. That was the coolest.

“Well, she seemed really surprised that time I punched the mayor’s son for being mean about her. Not that he was mean, but that I punched him.” Cora folded her arms as her dad nodded encouragingly. “And she was really upset that I got hurt. And when I hugged her—Dad, do you think anyone had ever hugged her before?”

“You know, I don’t think so,” Dad said thoughtfully, and with the air that said that he knew something she didn’t, and he wasn’t going to tell her. And that was okay, too—adults had their secrets, and if a smart kid like Cora couldn’t figure them out, that was on her.

“Well, I think she’s lonely,” Cora had declared. “And if she doesn’t have anyone, we need to fix that.”

Dad had chuckled. “That’s a real good idea, gumdrop. Why don’t I put you in charge of that? Just remember, there’s a fine line between making someone feel wanted and making someone feel pestered.”

“Da-ad,” she’d grumbled, and he’d kissed her on the top of the head and said goodnight.

Cora was thinking about that talk, and the way Cait had gotten real sick after the last time they’d been to Neon. She caught up with the two grown-ups just outside of the Rangers office. “Dad? Cait?” They both paused to look at her. “Um, Cait, are you gonna be okay here? You said the eyestrain made you sick last time.”

Dad let out a big sigh, and Cait got the kind of smile on her face that people did when they didn’t want to quite tell the truth. “I’ll be okay, Cora. This is important enough that I can deal with it for awhile.”

“Cait,” Dad said, in his ‘please-be-reasonable-it’s-for-your-own-good’ voice, “I really think you should stop in at Reliant. They know how—”

Cait interrupted him. “We’ve talked about this.” Cora was usually all for someone doing what they wanted to, but Cait was already looking what her dad called ‘pretty rough’ and what she called sick. Cait reached out to push the door open, and it flashed red; a holosign flashed up: RANGER OUT ON BUSINESS.

“There,” Dad almost snapped. “He’s not in. Cait—I know we’ve talked about this. How about a compromise? I’m not asking you to make any decisions right this minute. All I’m asking is that you look into it. Find out if it’s even possible, and we can discuss it again later when you’re not already stressed to the gills.” Dad gave Cait a look that Cora knew she wasn’t supposed to understand—but duh, she was twelve, and she knew Dad was, for some obscure grown-up reason, trying not to let Cait know he was in love with her. And Cait was just as bad!

Not for the first time, she wished they’d just go ahead and kiss each other already.

[atwooozi]

Almost Perfect (Sebastian x Fem!Farmer) Chapter 21: Flaws and All

Warnings: Slow burn, personal struggles, anxiety, depression, eventual smut

Summary: The Allers-Armstrong family attempts an unusual rehearsal dinner to prepare for a guest. (check the author's notes for content warnings.)

A/N: CW: emotionally heavy and talks about anxiety

Hello everyone! As it turns out I'm a liar and I am posting today instead of next Thursday. I'm honestly so happy that I was able to write this chapter. I actually have a beta reader for the other WIP that I'm currently working on and she's been so helpful with helping me think more deeply about character motivations and dialogue. If you wanna check out some of her stuff she goes by Zark or Linotte-Miller on tumblr. I think her writing is beautiful and I'm actually going to be helping her with her WIP once she's out of the planning phase so I'm really excited.

READ ON AO3

Chapter 21: Flaws and All

Fall 11

“I don’t think normal families do this,” Maru said as she took her seat at the table.

The “this” that Maru was referring to was a rehearsal dinner of sorts. And she was right, normal families didn’t do this, but the Allers-Armstrong wasn’t the most functional family, unfortunately. A good dinner in their house was one where no one talked, so a rehearsal dinner was practically a necessity if they were going to have a guest over who wasn’t Sam or Abigail. 

Sebastian snorted as he took his seat across from her. “What makes you think we’re a normal family?” 

“I think the term is nuclear family,” Demetrius interjected, obviously only half listening as he took his seat at the table.�� 

Maru and Sebastian exchanged glances, but neither bothered to correct Demetrius. Correcting him right now would open a can of worms that would most likely bleed into tomorrow’s dinner. Angeline didn’t need to deal with that. In all honesty, Sebastian didn't want her to see the cracks in his family-life.

“Do you think spaghetti is too simple for tomorrow?” Robin asked as she took her seat at the table. Tonight they were eating salmon. Sebastian honestly loved all the meals that his mom cooked. He was just grateful that she would make enough for him even when he didn't join them at the table most nights. Sebastian couldn't help but feel worried when he watched his mom frown as she looked down at her plate. 

Although this dinner was his mom's idea he didn't want her to stress over it. It was supposed to be fun…but why did it put such a pit in his stomach? It wasn't even just him, but his mom too. She was always so confident so if even she was worried then he must be doomed. 

“I think we should have bean hotpot,” Demetrius suggested as he picked at his salad. 

Sebastian made a face at Demetrius’ suggestion and shook his head. "No–Mom... Look, I think spaghetti is fine.” He did his best to reassure her. “I don’t really think Angeline is going to care.” 

“Maybe we should make rhubarb pie, too?” Maru suggested, also doing her best to be helpful. 

“Is rhubarb even in season right now?” Robin questioned.

“Oh yeah…” Maru pursed her lips and shrugged. “I don’t think we should just do spaghetti, though.” 

Robin nodded, “Yeah, I think it’s too simple.” She looked over to Sebastian, pointing her fork in his direction to emphasize what she was saying. “Text Angeline and ask her what she likes.” 

“Now?” Sebastian asked with a frown. 

“Now.” 

Sebastian felt conflicted as he hesitated to reach for his phone. Not that he ever cared before, but Demetrius hated when phones were out at the table. Something about it keeping a person from being present. Yet, Demetrius would read a newspaper or some scientific journal during dinner and that was never considered an issue. Regardless–Sebastian didn't want to create a problem that could easily be avoided. 

“Yeah, you should do it now.” Maru agreed. “That way someone can go to the store before it gets too late.” 

Sebastian sighed as he pulled out his phone. He didn’t realize it until now but his palms were sweating. He wasn’t sure if it was his nerves, the heat, or both. Not only were his palms clammy, but his fingers were trembling. 

He swallowed thickly as he tried to will his hands to stop shaking, but it didn’t work. If anything, the shaking got worse. He balled his freehand into a fist to make the shaking stop. 

“I thought we all agreed on no phones at the dinner table?” Demetrius said as he watched Sebastian with a disapproving look. 

Sebastian frowned as he looked between his Demetrius and his mom. At this point, he wanted to text Angeline and tell her not to come. He wanted to lie and say that Maru had the flu so they’d have to reschedule. With the way his heart was pounding in his chest, he felt like he might faint. 

This is a bad idea. 

“Oh stop,” Robin said as she nudged Demetrius’ shoulder. “I told him to.”

Demetrius frowned and gave a shrug not saying much more, but it was obvious how he felt about it by the face he made. It made Sebastian grit his teeth because no matter what he did Demetrius would have a problem. If he didn’t listen to his mom he’d get a lecture. If he said no he wouldn’t text Angeline he’d get a lecture. If he broke the stupid dinner rules he’d get a disapproving look. He couldn’t win.

“I don’t want to have this dinner tomorrow,” Sebastian admitted in the steadiest voice he could manage. 

“What?” Robin shifted in her seat to give Sebastian her full attention. “Why not Sebby?”

Sebastian just shook his head. He couldn’t say what he wanted to say. No, that wasn’t it. It was that he shouldn’t say it. He shouldn’t tell his fucked family that they were the reason that he wanted to cancel the dinner. How could he say that without it coming out horribly wrong and leading to an argument that he knew would get him kicked out of the house? How could he say that without breaking his mother's heart? He refused to do that. 

He swallowed his words and took a deep breath. He wanted to be calm. He needed to be calm. But he couldn’t look up at them as he said the words, so instead, he looked down at the table. 

“...I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”  

Robin and Maru exchanged concerned glances before looking back over to Sebastian, waiting for him to continue. They sat in silence for a few tense minutes. No one ate, no one dared to say a word, the only movement came from Demetrius as he looked over whatever journal he had brought with him to the table. It all felt so suffocating. Between the arbitrary rules and the heavy tension that infected this house Sebastian felt like he couldn't breathe. 

Sebastian couldn’t bring Angeline here. If he did she’d hate him. He was sure of it. She would see all his weak parts he tried his best to hide. The only person that made him feel normal wouldn’t want anything to do with him anymore and he couldn't take that hit. 

Sebastian stood up from the table abruptly, causing the table to clatter and quickly made his way out the door. Doing his best to ignore his mom’s and sister's calls for him as he ran away. He needed to get out before the situation became worse. It wasn’t the smartest move, but he wasn’t sure what else he could do at the moment.  

Without realizing it, Sebastian was making his way down the mountain path to Angeline’s farm. Usually, when Sebastian needed to clear his head he’d either run off to Zuzu or hide out with Linus for a bit, but instead he was making his way to Angeline’s. Just the thought of her made him feel a bit more relaxed. She was his new safe place and as sweet as that was, it was equally just as terrifying. 

Sebastian gulped as he stood in front of Angeline’s farmhouse. He wanted to run through the door and just collapse in her arms much like a child would do after a long day at school. He felt so emotionally exhausted. Would Angeline regret liking him if she saw him like this? He didn’t want to know. 

“...Sebastian?” 

Sebastian felt his heart stop when he heard Angeline’s voice call out to him. It was so gentle and full of concern. It made him feel so much lighter. And while that feeling was so comforting he could feel fear creeping into the back of his mind. He didn't want his happiness to depend completely on another person. It was too fast to be so attached, but he couldn't help it. 

He really didn’t want her to see him so broken, but he could only hide it from her for so long. He reluctantly turned around to face her and he felt his heart start to beat once more, almost painfully fast. 

She didn’t say anything as she walked towards him. Without any hesitation, she wrapped her arms tightly around him, nuzzling her face into his neck as she held him close. 

It took Sebastian a moment before his body was able to respond to Angeline’s touch, but he returned the hug, holding her just as tightly to him. And without realizing it tears were rolling down his cheeks. He didn’t even know he was crying until his chest heaved as he sobbed into Angeline’s shoulder. 

And what did she do while he cried? Angeline rubbed gentle circles along his back as she gently cradled his head, letting him cry into her now tear-stained shirt. She didn’t try to say anything or try to get him to stop. She just let him cry and he had never felt so thankful before in his life.       

Angeline continued to hold Sebastian close, offering a silent comfort that he desperately needed. His sobs gradually subsided, leaving him feeling drained but slightly more at peace. The warmth of her embrace soothed his raw nerves that had been building steadily up for days.    

“Do you want to come inside?” Angeline asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Sebastian nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. Angeline gently took his hand and led him into the farmhouse. It smelled faintly of pine, much like his own house, but unlike there this place felt more like home. It was small, but it felt cozy. It didn’t carry the same tense atmosphere that he was used to. He felt welcome. 

“Sit, I’ll get you something to drink,” Angeline said, guiding him to a chair at the kitchen table. 

Sebastian sat down, his legs felt like they could give out at any moment. He watched as Angeline moved around her small kitchen to get him a glass of water. He didn’t think it was necessary for her to dote on him like this, but he appreciated it. 

Angeline poured him a glass of water and placed it in front of him before taking a seat across from him. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked gently, her eyes filled with concern. 

Sebastian took a sip of water, trying to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t sure exactly how to go about telling her that his family was a dysfunctional mess, but he also knew that keeping it all inside wasn’t helping him either since he basically had an emotional breakdown in her front yard. 

“It’s just…” His voice was hoarse from crying. He tried his best to clear his throat before he continued. “My family is a mess a-and I don’t want you to see that.” 

Sebastian looked away from Angeline and found himself staring at the floor. “I don’t want you to see me like this…”  

Angeline reached across the table and took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “Sebastian, I care about you, no matter what.” 

Her words felt like a lifeline that he wasn’t even aware that he needed. She pulled him back from the edge of his own despair. He took a deep breath and looked back at her feeling a bit stronger than he did just moments ago. 

“I’m scared that if you see my family…if you see me, you’ll change your mind,” he admitted. 

Angeline’s expression softened, and she stood up, walking around the table to kneel beside him. Sebastian tried to shrink away from her from his chair, but he couldn’t escape her gaze. She looked at him with eyes filled with unwavering support. 

“Sebastian, I like you,” Angeline said firmly. “I want to be there for you through all of it.”

“But–”

Angeline shook her head. “ All of it. ”

Sebastian pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her close as if she could disappear in an instant if he were to let go. 

“Thank you.”

Angeline hugged him back just as tightly, she made him feel as if he wasn’t so alone. He felt whole. They stayed like this for a while, finding solace in each other’s embrace. Eventually, Angeline pulled back slightly and gave him a reassuring smile. 

“Wanna sit on the porch?” She suggested. “Some fresh air might be good.” 

Sebastian nodded and reluctantly let Angeline go. They stood up and walked out of the cabin, hand in hand. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the acres of land. The view from the mountains was beautiful, but it was just as nice if not better from the farm.

Angeline pulled Sebastian down to sit with her, leaning against the wall. With her by his side, he felt like he could face anything. He wasn’t alone anymore. Not as long as he had her there. 

They sat there silently, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Angeline leaned her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. 

“Hey.” Sebastian broke the silence.

Angeline glanced up at him. “Hey.” 

“Could you picture me living on a farm?” 

Angeline giggled and nuzzled up to Sebastian. “Is it possible to be an emo farmer?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes and if he wasn't so emotionally exhausted he'd probably laugh a little at Angeline’s lame joke. He felt a sense of calm settle over him as he sat there on Angeline’s porch looking up at the stars. If he could pick a moment to live in it would be this moment. He’d stay here forever. 

[thornwolfy235]

WIP 6 - First Intimacy

I'm going to post a bunch of WIPs in a row now. maybe with a little feedback I'll get the gumption to finish one of them.

A bit of info on them first. I wrote all of these in an effort to deal with an exceptionally bad break-up (might as well call it a divorce, we lived together for 6 years). A lot of these are "how it should've gone" type stuff. I was never able to decide if they should be a full chapter by chapter "novel" or just a bunch of oneshots within the same universe and make a collection of them in order or whatever. Maybe I'll drop them to Ao3 as well. They are all xfem!Readers with my blorbos Grillby and Gaster (though most have no anatomy mentioned, so you can safely read no matter what gender you are). I'd appreciate a glance through if nothing else.

As the title suggests, this is Grillby and Reader's first intimate encounter. For as long as this WIP is, it doesn't actually get too terribly far into anything, but I still have to say MINORS DON'T READ. This is mostly fluff and consent and experimenting. Quick reminder that Reader is female, though again it doesn't get too very far, not even below the belt. Because I take too, too long with descriptions and dialogue.

Oh, also, Reader and Grillby have become SoulBonded, which in my universe is like a deeply committed relationship. Kind of an engagement type deal?

CW: 18+

((needs stuff))

He leaned down to kiss you, first softly, then with more force. His tongue ran along your lips, seeking entrance. You pulled away with a whimper, not anticipating the sudden passion from him. Though his flames seemed normal enough, his eyes were nearly white. “Sweet spark, please…please let me see you. I want to touch you…feel you…claim you…” he almost growled.

You pulled back further, a mix of fear and want fighting in you. “I don’t…I’m not ready to…Grillby…”

He took a breath and shook his head, a little of his intensity falling away. “No, dearest spark. I’m not seeking to make you my Mate. Not yet. I just want…need to be near you. I’ve learned your mind and your SOUL, and now I need to learn your body. I need to show you that your trust isn’t misplaced. I promise I won’t do anything you don’t agree to. Just let…let me be with you.”

You swallowed nervously. The proposition was…very attractive, but… “I’m scared. It feels like everything is going so fast now.”

He dropped his head with a hollow chuckle. “I know, I know. It’s a lot right now. Our SOULs are likely trying to figure out the Bond dynamic as well, which is only adding to the confusion. I’m sorry.” He looked at you, eyes closer to their normal golden-yellow, if still a little pale. “I won’t do anything you aren’t okay with, I promise. My SOUL is just begging to be as close to you as possible. I want to learn you and show you how much you mean to me.”

Admittedly, you liked that idea a lot. You wanted that closeness, to try out deeper intimacy with him. Your nerves just needed to be eased a little more. “W-will you stop if I ask you to?”

“Yes, and I won’t hold it against you, either,” he assured you, voice as tender as you’d ever heard it. “I would never hold it against you.”

“Then y-yes, I want to try,” you murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek. He put his hand over yours and kissed your palm. “Just…be gentle?”

“Always, my sweet spark.” He let you go, hands going to undo the buttons of his shirt as he leaned in to kiss your lips. “I am sorry for my forcefulness earlier. I know you don’t like open-mouthed kisses. I…lost myself for a moment. It wasn’t lust or aggression, just the need to be near you.”

“I-I…I think I understand. And you know I don’t mind trying them…I just still don’t know what to do with them…but if you want to try again…” you trailed off, watching his fingers work.

He paused, mulling the thought over, before resuming undoing the buttons. “Perhaps if the feeling is right,” he conceded. You watched as little by little his chest was revealed. As he finished with the last of them, you tentatively lifted a hand to reach for him but froze before actually touching him. He waited to see if you would touch him yourself, but as it became clear your were too nervous to try, he gently took your hand in his. He kissed your fingers softly before guiding it to where a sternum would be on a human and held it there for a moment. “Is this alright?”

“I’m scared I’ll mess this up somehow…” you admitted in a whisper, looking up into his eyes.

He affectionately bumped his forehead against yours. “You won’t. I don’t think you could.” He released your hand as your other one joined it, gently running over his chest and stomach. You weren’t able to look away from his face, strangely too nervous to see what you touched yet willing to meet his eyes. There was a solid, defined form beneath his fiery skin, though the shape seemed rougher than that his hands and face. They lacked human bone and muscle structures you were used to. No abs, no defined ribcage, things that made sense as you thought about them. He was magical fire; what need would he have for those? As you ran your fingers up along his sides, you grazed something cool, hard, and jagged. Alarmed, you recoiled with a gasp. “It’s alright, dear spark. It’s just a scar,” he murmured. He calmly shrugged his shirt off the rest of the way, revealing his shoulders, arms, and chest fully. What you had touched was a patch of black stone the size of your palm, its edges and cracks glowing red. There were a handful of smaller blotches littered across him, almost too small to notice unless you looked for them. “My form is fairly resilient, but some injuries do not…reignite even after healing. The large one was from a human mage with water magic,” he explained.

“I-I’m sorry,” you squeaked, set on edge by the old wounds and his suddenly bare top. He was much more intimidating this way, and it took you a moment before you realized why. The flames across his neck, shoulders, and upper arms flared high much like those on his head, like a lion’s mane unrestricted by gravity, making him appear much larger than you were used to. He looked imposing…threatening.

“Please don’t be afraid,” he said, startling you despite the softness of his voice. “I can feel it from your SOUL…I didn’t mean to frighten you…” Now ashamed, you held your hands to your chest as though it would stop your SOUL from projecting your emotions to him. “No, don’t…It’s okay. It’s important to me to understand how you feel. I don’t want you to hide that from me,” he said, putting his hands over yours and pushing them down.

You let out a stress-filled giggle. “W-wow, I really need to get a-a handle on this Bond thing, don’t I?”

“Stop, please. Just relax.”

“Grillby, you know telling me that is like telling a tree to take a walk!” you whined.

“Relax,” he repeated, now holding both of your hands. “Everything is big and new and you feel like you don’t know what to do with it, but I’m here. I’m here with you, and I’m going be to here for all of it. Take a breath, and relax. Tell me why you became scared.”

You swallowed and tried to do as he said. Your fingers tightened on his, which he returned, the pressure helping to steady you. “Y-your flames are…bigger. A-and that made you seem bigger, and then the scars, and what your SOUL showed me, and…I-I think it just occurred to me for the first time who you are…”

“Your friendly barkeep? Your boyfriend? Your SOULbonded? Because that’s who I am. The past may have shaped me, but I get to choose what I do with it. I chose to never don my armor or pick up a weapon again years ago. Now, I choose to be yours.”

You blinked back tears at the sudden rush of love you felt for him and from him as he let it flow through the Bond for a moment. “I choose to be yours, too,” you whispered.

He smiled sweetly at you. “I know,” he said, giving you a long, gentle kiss. He guided your arms around his shoulders, patiently accepting your trepidation as your bare skin passed into his flames, but like when you played with the ones on his head, they were borderline hot but didn’t harm you. “I would never, could never hurt you, my love,” he assured you.

“I-I know. You’d think I’d have caught on to that by now.”

He chuckled. “I’m patient. You have plenty of time to learn.”

You laughed with him. “Why…why are your flames bigger?” you asked.

“That’s what happens when fire is exposed to oxygen, dearest,” he teased with a smirk.

You blinked. “Oh. I should’ve thought of that.”

He laughed loud and long, hugging you hard. “I’m never going to be bored with you around, am I?” He caught your lips in a kiss before you could answer, then a second, more forceful one. You felt his tongue touch your lips and this time let him in. He explored for a moment, tongue touching the roof of your mouth, running along your teeth, before it found yours. You broke the kiss with a little gasp, still unsure about it. “It’s alright,” he murmured before you could apologize, lips finding yours again. He kissed from there to your cheek and down to your neck where he touched his teeth to your skin in the lightest bite possible. You whimpered softly, going boneless at the feeling, which earned a low chuckle from him. “Never bored at all,” he murmured, pressing his face into the crook of your neck with a happy sigh. His flames tickled your cheek, making you giggle. “May I see you, too?” he asked.

You felt yourself lock up for a moment before forcing yourself to relax. You were safe here. In fact, there probably wasn’t a safer place you could be. “Yes,” you whispered.

He eased you back, hands sliding under your shirt to rest on your waist. “May I undress you, or would you rather do that yourself?”

You blushed. “I-I’d rather do it, if that’s okay…” He nodded, thumbs rubbing comforting little circles into your skin as he waited for you to work up the courage to do so. Deciding to get the awkwardness over with as quickly as possible, you pulled your shirt and bra off at the same time. You sat there, fighting the urge to cover your breasts with your arms.

His fingers moved up your sides, pausing at the feel of your ribs before slowly going over them as though counting. There was a little trickle of emotions from his side of the Bond, as though there was so much there that they were escaping whatever dam he’d put up. Aside from the ever-present affection, there was curiosity, the desire to see-touch-learn-know you. “I thought human bones were rigid, but I can feel them shift as you breath,” he murmured.

“Our bones have a little bend to them, otherwise they’d facture at the slightest pressure, but the ribcage also isn’t a solid structure, not mostly anyways. There’s a lot of stretchy, flexible cartilage connecting the ribs to the sternum, and they aren’t fused with our vertebrae either. They’re attached by tiny ligaments, and now I’m nervous-rambling.”

He smiled. “That’s perfectly fine, spark. I want to understand you, how you work and feel, what you like and don’t.”

You searched his face as you processed that. “This…this really isn’t about sex o-or even claiming me, is it? I’m just as much of a novelty to you as you are to me.”

“It has very little to do with sex, and while I do want to ensure you know that you are mine, learning your body is my primary goal,” he said patiently before tilting his head. “Why does this surprise you?”

You swallowed, suddenly embarrassed. “W-well…f-for humans, this sort of intimacy would usually be considered heavy petting or foreplay. It is for learning a little, but pleasure-seeking and potentially escalating into sex is generally the driving force.”

“Ah…” He frowned. “That’s…truly a shame. To not take the chance to use first intimacy to focus on learning and teaching feels like a waste.”

“So this…what we’re doing right now…It’s common for Monsters?”

“Very much so for those romantically coupled, especially after first Bonding. Even among similar forms, there is this sort of…learning period. Unlike humans who have a fairly universal shape, our physical forms are all so varied that it’s important to understand how the other works before attempting any sort of sexual intimacy. Not to mention it builds up trust and love and security,” he explained.

You mulled that over for a moment before going rigid. “Wait…I’ve been nervous this entire relationship about asking to touch you or how your body works, thinking I might be offending you, when it was totally normal and actually expected of me?”

His eyes widened. “You were uneasy all those times because thought you were offending me? I thought you were worried that you might get burned by me! I-I thought you were afraid of me!”

You put your head in your hands. “I’m so dumb,” you moaned, feeling your cheeks heat up.

He bumped his head against yours. “No dumber than me,” he said, sounding relieved. “I’ve been reassuring you all along that I wouldn’t hurt you when that wasn’t the problem at all.”

“No, no; reassuring is nice. I like being reassured. At the very least, it gives me the warm fuzzies, and there are definitely times I need those,” you said quickly, getting a little huff of laughter in return. “But… Yeah…I was afraid you’d get mad at me for asking something stupid or obvious to anyone else but me.”

“Oh, spark, I could never be mad at you for asking questions. You weren’t doing it out of malice. You wanted to understand me, which I think is wonderful. I’m just…shocked you were never afraid of me.”

“No. Just that little bit ago, when I first saw you without your shirt. And…I don’t think ‘afraid’ is the right word…More like…” You thought about it before changing your approach. “Humans have been told that we’re stronger than Monsters. Our bodies are made up of ‘stuff,’ so we can take more physical damage and have way more determination, which in turn means we’re harder to stop if one of us does want to hurt one of you. The PR people spun that to encourage humans to think that Monsters literally can’t pose a threat, which is probably for the best as it’s likely been keeping most humans from freaking out too much, extremists notwithstanding. But it also makes it easy to forget that Monsters aren’t totally harmless and helpless. So seeing you, way back then in your memories and just now, big and honestly kind of intimidating, sort of made me realize that I’m...outclassed by you. And it’s not that I think you would hurt me, but whatever instinctive, primal bit of my brain just kind of kicked in for a second to be like ‘Hey, idiot! You’re literally playing with fire here!’ I kind of forgot you were you, and suddenly thought that I could be in danger, o-or that there was the potential for it at least.” You paused, feeling guilty for your earlier reaction. “Does that make…any sense?”

He nodded slowly. “It’s a fair assessment of things,” he said, almost reluctantly. “Do you think that will be something in the back of your mind now? That you’re ‘outclassed’ by me. I don’t want…I worry you’ll feel like you have to tiptoe around me now.”

You shrugged but shook your head. “It might pop up once in a while, but I don’t think it’ll make me treat you any different. Just…when it does show up, I might need you to remind me that it’s still you.”

He smiled, though there was a tinge of sadness to it. “I can manage that. Thank you for being honest with me.” His hands slid back down to your waist. “Do you want to stop for tonight?” You shook your head, confused. “No. Why?”

“If this sort of exploration isn’t comfortable for you, I don’t want to make you continue.”

You glanced away, embarrassed. “It’s not uncomfortable, per se, but I will probably find such…intimate touching arousing, and I don’t know if that would make you uncomfortable.” His gentle smile became that teasing smirk again. “It isn’t unheard of for Monsters to get a little riled up during this. And there are ways of assisting with that without resorting to sex, you know.”

You blushed. “W-well, ye-es…”

His expression softened as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “I am happy to take care of you, sweet spark. Whether it’s supporting you, reassuring you, or helping you when you’re wound up because of me, I’m here for you.”

“I know…I just…worry it’s too fast or too soon…or that you don’t want to but are just going along with my dumb body’s urges to make me happy.”

“Your body isn’t dumb; You’re simply designed differently from Monsters. And I’m not ‘just going along’ with it. I can say ‘no’ or decide what’s far enough, just like you can.” He grinned mischievously. “Besides, I am feeling a little…playful as well. And if I’m to be your Mate, eventually I’ll have to learn what makes you feel good, won’t I?”

You were positive you found a way to blush even harder. “Tr-true…You’ve just never made me feel rushed, so I wanted to make sure I wasn’t rushing you. So…just to make sure…this won’t make me your Mate yet, will it?”

He shook his head. “No. There’s a lot more involved to the process than that. As I told you before, even sex wouldn’t do it. To become SOULmates, you must let your partner see and touch your SOUL, and do the same for theirs. It’s the ultimate expression of vulnerability and trust. Not that I don’t trust you or think you don’t trust me, but it’s…big. It’s like if…” he paused to think about his wording. “If we were to liken our Bonding to an engagement, Mating would be marriage…times ten.”

You nodded. “I…think I understand,” you said softly. You reached out and touched his chest, closing your eyes to focus his heat and his solidness.

He stayed still, though you were certain he was looking at your hand curiously. “What are you thinking about?”

“You. How you feel. I noticed…Your body feels less…formed? I-I mean, just compared to me. The shape is there, but I don’t feel the bone or muscle structure I’m used to,” you said. You opened your eyes as you ran your hand up to his shoulder and down his arm. “But that changes just above your elbow. It feels more like my arm. Your hands are even more defined than that. I can practically feel tendons on the back of your hand when you move your fingers,” you finished as you reached his hand. He took it off your side to intertwine his fingers with yours.

“It’s not a conscious decision on my part. I think that my SOUL simply focuses on refining the more important features. A well-formed hand is more useful to me than a chiseled torso, for example. Does it bother you?”

“No, no. It’s just…an observation. Besides, I’ve never really been into muscle-y people,” you joked, trying to ease some of your own awkwardness. “Why a humanoid form, anyway?“

“I think it’s a pretty good one myself, don’t you?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

You snorted. “Well, yes, of course, and it’s very handsome, too. But your magic could have chosen any number of things…given you wings or extra arms…”

“Wings could have been nice,” he mused. “I don’t know why this is my form. I never really questioned it. I guess my magic just decided this one would be the most useful.” He untangled your fingers to instead cradle your hand in his. Maybe it was some lingering unease from earlier, or perhaps it was that you suddenly felt incredibly inexperienced, but you felt so small and vulnerable right now. And yet his patience and gentleness also made you feel so safe, and that led to wanting more…to see whatever this intimate exploration might become. “Dearest?” You looked up from your hands and into his eyes. “May I touch you?” You felt his other hand slide up your side to stop alongside your breasts.

You bit your lip. “I-If we continue, I-I am going to become…needy,” you admitted.

“‘Needy’ as in ‘aroused,’” he clarified. You glanced down but nodded, embarrassed by your body’s reaction to this, to him. He kissed your forehead. “As I said, I’m feeling a little the same, so as long as you were okay with things only being done by hand…”

“Y-yeah. I’m a-also not ready for actual sex yet, b-but…I want…w-want the…” Words failed you.

His hand slid along the underside of one breast and gently cupped it, making your breath hitch. “The intimacy? The closeness that comes with being seen and touched and loved?” he asked. You nodded. “Then let me give that to you. Teach me. Show me what it is you like.”

You sighed, taking his hand from your chest. You needed to focus, and his touch was making that hard to do. “I-I don’t really know if I can just…tell you what to do. It’s just…I-I didn’t think we’d be having this conversation until way later, a-and you probably could guess this on your own, but…” You lifted his hand to your cheek to nuzzle it. “Safety is a big thing for me. I-in intimate circumstances like this, I’d go as far as to say it’s my kink. If I feel safe, I’ll let you do just about anything to me and I’ll probably love it. I feel safe right now, even if I’m also feeling embarrassed and nervous and shy…I’m safe with you, so I want you to do…whatever it is that you want to do. I know it probably sounds wishy-washy when I say that, like I’m just going along with things, but it’s true. I feel safe, so I want to let you do what you want and see what happens.”

His hand, which had been lax in your grasp, moved to under your chin, gently tilting your head up to look into his face. “I believe I understand. Would you still stop me if I did something you didn’t like?”

“Yes. I know we’re learning each other, and I trust that if I told you to stop or try something different, you would. And honestly, knowing that you would still respect me, even when I let you have permission to try anything…I think that just reinforces the feeling of safety.”

He smiled. “Good. I was a little worried you’d just accept anything I did, even if you didn’t like it. I don’t want to do that to you. Is there anything you absolutely don’t want me to do?”

“I-I don’t think you’d do any of what I don’t like,” you said, fighting the urge to look away.

“Tell me anyway. It’s best I know your limits.”

You took a breath, forcing your shoulders to relax. You hadn’t realized you tensed up again. “I don’t want to be humiliated or degraded. I don’t like derogatory terms, the kinds of things that could be used as an insult. ‘Spark’ or ‘girl’ or other pet-names are fine, just nothing…crass. A-and I don’t ever want to be hit hard, especially my face. It’s too close to…s-something someone would do in anger for me to find it fun.”

His hands had moved to your arms as you talked to rub them comfortingly. “You’re right; I wouldn’t do any of those things. I never want to hurt you, emotionally or physically.”

Your eyes flicked away from his, unsure if you could watch his reaction to what you were about to admit. “Like I said, playful names are okay, a-and not all pain is bad…I-I mean, I like when you nip and bite me, a-and…in the right circumstances…I-I do like being…spanked…”

He paused for a moment, considering that. “Those things aren’t really intended to hurt you. At least, it isn’t my intent to hurt you when I bite you. It’s play. It’s more intense than nuzzling and kissing, but it’s still play. A little sting to make gentle touches all the gentler. And I can see how spanking would be a form of intense play where hitting your face would not be.” He squeezed your hands reassuringly. “But I don’t want to do that tonight, if that’s alright.”

A nervous giggle left you. “No, that’s fine. I-I’m definitely not in the right headspace for spanking.”

He hugged you, lips finding yours. The kiss was hard, passionate, his teeth catching your lower lip and tugging it as you parted. You whimpered softly, feeling the tension that had built up again leave you. “Lay back and get comfortable. I want to explore you properly,” he breathed, his usual tenor pitching down slightly with a soft growl. Oh, if that didn’t do it for you. He watched with a smirk as you hurried to obey, scooting to the center of the bed and laying back against the pillows. “Ah, so you like being told what to do. Would you like it if I took control?” he teased, hands running up your legs.

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes fixed on his. Your legs automatically parted so he could kneel between them.

“Would you like it if I used a little force?” he continued in that seductive tone, leaning over you, one hand pressing down on the center of your chest. He had you pinned beneath him, though the pressure he put on your body was minimal, just enough to convey that he was indeed in control without coming across as hostile, and certainly not enough to hurt you.

“Yes,” you breathed again, letting yourself relax. His flames flared out behind him, still making him seem huge, but now the sight calmed you. ‘In control’ could have multiple implications, and he was in control of himself, so it was safe – and admittedly hot – for him to be in control of the situation as well.

“Would you submit to me if I wanted to dominate you?” he growled, leaning further down over you, baring his teeth in a wicked grin.

You tilted your head back to expose your throat, inviting him to use those teeth on you. “Yes,” you answered, never taking your eyes from his.

He pressed a burning but tender kiss to your neck. “Why is that, sweet girl?” he purred against your skin. While his voice was still that deliciously-dangerous rumble, the question was genuine.

“You promised to take care of me. You’re bigger and stronger than me, and you could force me to do things I didn’t want, but you promised not to, and I trust you not to break it,” you answered honestly.

His dominant façade broke, everything about him softening in an instant. “Yes, sweet spark. I’ll always take care of you,” he murmured. He lowered himself carefully onto you, body pressing you down fully. The feeling of his bare chest against yours was fascinating, hot and heavy and solid without being crushing, the little flames between your bodies creating a light, tickling sensation against your skin. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck and you found yourself doing the same, arms wrapping around him. “I love you so much. You mean the world to me.” His breath was delightfully hot as it feathered over the sensitive junction where your neck met your shoulder. He mouthed it softly, teeth touching your skin before leaving it. A low growl rumbled in his chest. “I think I’m still feeling a bit possessive.” He kissed further down your shoulder. “This is where he touched you. I want…I want to mark you, bite you, so I can erase his memory from here and replace it with me...so when you see it and feel it,you will know you are mine.”

You shivered at the roughness in his voice. “You can. I want to be yours,” you murmured, running a hand up his neck and to his head, his flames curling around your fingers as though trying to hold onto them as they passed through.

“You are, little spark, but I don’t want to hurt you. Even if it’s a good hurt like we talked about…”

“Grillby, I want you to. Please. Mark me,” you whispered.

You stilled as his mouth closed over your shoulder, bracing for a bite that never came. Instead, you felt his fiery tongue lave over your skin, literally warming you up, before digging his teeth slightly into you and sucking hard on the caught flesh. You mewled, arching beneath him even as his body kept you trapped. His mouth released you with a kiss so soft you almost couldn’t feel it over the ache of the bruise that was definitely forming. He nuzzled back against your neck with another gentle kiss, lightly rubbing where he had marked you. “I’m afraid that’s the best you’re going to get from me for now, dear spark,” he rasped.

“I-I’m not disappointed,” you breathed, a little dazed.

He laughed as he sat up to run his hands down your sides and up across your stomach to your breasts. A little shiver went through you as he palmed them, squeezing lightly. “So soft…you are so beautiful,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your chest. His fingers trailed to your nipples, making you squirm with a whine. “Sensitive?” he asked with a smirk that told you he knew exactly what he was doing to you. You didn’t care that he was teasing you, just as long as he kept touching you. You just nodded, knowing you wouldn’t be able to say anything coherent. He circled one nipple lazily with a finger, watching it pebble before closing his fingers over it in a soft pinch, rolling it slowly before releasing it with a little tug. The moan that came out of your mouth caught you both by surprise, and you quickly rolled onto your side (or at least as far as you could with him still kneeling between your legs) to hide your face. “I’m sorry. Was that too much?” All teasing was gone from his voice as he put a hand on your back.

“N-no…er, yes? I-I can’t tell,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “I-I don’t…I didn’t think…I-I wasn’t expecting to have that strong of a reaction,” you stammered after a moment.

He huffed softly. “Neither was I. I knew you were going to be responsive, but I didn’t realize it would be so much.” The hand moved to your cheek, coaxing you to look at him. “That’s not a complaint, just so you know, but with how you twisted away, I thought I did something wrong or hurt you.”

“No, i-it felt really good…I guess it’s just been a while since someone’s, well…yeah.”

He smiled, understanding. “Yeah…Are you still okay with this?” You nodded with a soft ‘yes.’ “Is there anything I should do differently?”

“N-no, I think you’re fine. I just need to…not react as much.”

“Oh, please don’t do that,” he said quickly, surprising you. “Not to sound creepy, but the sounds you make are beautiful. To know that you feel so good because of me is…it’s intoxicating. So please, don’t try to be quiet. I want to hear you.”

You searched his face for a moment before nuzzling his palm affectionately. “Okay.”

He smiled, rubbing a thumb across your cheek lovingly. “Will you lay back again for me?” You rolled onto your back again, laying flat under him, arms at your sides. He chuckled at that. “ Relax. You look a little stiff like that, spark,” he said, gently taking your hands. The tiniest gasp escaped you as he lifted them over your head and held them against the pillows. “Now, aren’t you pretty like that…” he purred, grinning down at you.

“Grillby…” you breathed, eyes locked on his.

His smirk softened. “Is this too much?” he asked, his fingers twining with yours.

“Maybe, but…I think I’m okay with it,” you said softly.

He chuckled, leaning down to nuzzle your cheek. “I don’t want you to feel trapped or forced. I want you to know you’re safe and loved,” he murmured into your ear, kissing your cheek.

((needs stuff))

You lifted your hips and tried not to whimper at the feeling of him pulling your pants off. “Everything okay?” he asked, picking up on your unease despite your efforts to hide it.

“Just…feeling exposed,” you whispered, shutting your eyes. “I-I mean, of course I’m exposed, I’m practically naked, b-but somehow i-it’s more th-thanjustphysicalandI’msuddenlyscaredand–”

“Hey, hey, shh-shhh, it’s okay. It’s alright. I’m here. I’m going to keep you safe, remember?” The bed shifted as he spoke and you felt his hand cup your cheek.

“I-I don’t know what changed. I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me –”

“Shh, look at me, sweet spark…Please look at me?” You reluctantly opened your eyes again to see he had moved to sit beside you, probably in an effort to keep you from feeling trapped. You bit your lower lip to keep it from trembling, which he immediately eased back out from between your teeth with his thumb. “There’s nothing wrong with you. We just found a limit, that’s all.”

“B-but I didn’t really have any at the start, a-and now allofasuddenthatchangedandIjustfeellikeI–”

“Hush…That’s okay,” he soothed. “Neither of us really knew what to expect at the start of this, right? So we talked and we teased and we played, but now it’s become a little too much. That’s okay. My only expectation of this was to learn you and let you learn me. I think we’ve made pretty good progress on that, yes?” He poked your side gently, making you giggle, even if it was a little weak. “We can stop for the night if you want.”

“But I…I don’t know if that’s what I want to do. I-I want more, but I’m also…everything is overwhelming me right now…C-could we just…sit for a little bit? L-let me get used to…to being like this with someone again?”

“Of course. Come here, sweet spark,” he cooed, gently pulling you up and into his arms. “We have all the time in the world. You can take as much as you need.” He rubbed small circles on the back of your head with his fingertips as he spoke. It was strange to feel so much of his fire against your skin. It was always shifting, little licks and wisps of it moving against you, which created the false sensation that he was about to move or do something unexpected. You buried your head into his shoulder, your arms crossed to cover your breasts. “You’re so tense, little spark,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “Would laying down and cuddling help?”

“I-I don’t…m-maybe? I-I can’t tell.”

“How about we try it and see if it makes you feel better, hm?” You couldn’t tell if it was a genuine suggestion or instead gentle persuasion, but you found yourself nodding. He eased you down and cradled you against himself as his little spoon. His body was so warm and solid and comforting that you couldn’t help but snuggle back into him, making him cuddle you all the closer. “There, all comfy and cozy,” he hummed, the sound reverberating through his chest and into you.

“Wh-why…” you whimpered, breath catching in your throat.

“What’s wrong, sweet girl?”

“Why are you being s-so patient with me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve learned that you do things when you are ready, and not a moment before. Rushing you along would only make you anxious, resistant, and frustrated. Besides, being patient has always given me exactly what I wanted with you.”

“Y-you mean us ultimately doing what you wanted?”

Grillby sighed, and you can imagine him rolling his eyes. “I mean making you feel safe and happy. Seeing you at peace is what I always want most. Sometimes that peace shows itself differently – love-drunk after a make-out session, sleepy when I play with your hair, teary-eyed during the credits of a good movie, laughing loud with your friends – but in all of those moments, you are perfectly, openly, beautifully you. It’s merely a bonus that you become much more willing to try different things when you feel secure. And as much as I want to add ‘blissed-out from pleasure’ to that list, it will be done on your terms, not mine, because you are at your most radiant when you let your walls come down yourself, my bright spark.”

You blushed deeply. “Laying on the flattery a-a little thick, there…”

His lips caught your earlobe and gave it a teasing tug. “Truth isn’t flattery.” The arm around you shifted so he could take one of your hands in his. “Now, let’s just cuddle until you decide what you want to do next,” he continued, giving your hand two soft squeezes.

“You a-already know that I’m going to want to continue, right?” you whispered, squeezing back.

He hummed. “Yes. But the decision is still yours. I would never take that from you. You wouldn’t make me do something I didn’t want to, right? The same is true for you. It will always be true for you.”

You weren’t sure how to respond without sounding like a complete love-struck idiot, so you instead brought his hand to your lips to kiss it. He nuzzled the back of your neck, giving it a light nibble and a soft kiss in return. You snuggled back against him and let your eyes close, feeling him against you, his fiery skin moving gently against your bare back, the weight of his arm around you, the hand that still held yours. “I could fall asleep like this…” you murmured, the nervous tension in you eased by the familiarity of being cuddled like this.

Grillby hummed again, just a hint of amusement in it this time. “You can if you want. We don’t have to do anything else tonight, really.” You felt him kiss the back of your head. “Just knowing that you feel safe and comfortable enough to sleep while I hold you like this is enough for me, little spark.”

((needs stuff))